


The Fire in Your Eyes

by Veldeia



Category: Marvel Noir
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blow Jobs, Detective Noir, Fire, Gangsters, Hand Jobs, Identity Porn, M/M, Period-Typical Internalized Homophobia, Post-World War II, Slow Build, holy shit what's happened to Tony?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-05-14 10:59:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 45,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14768310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Veldeia/pseuds/Veldeia
Summary: Captain America is assigned the task of solving a mystery case of arson with possible superhuman involvement. The billionaire adventurer Tony Stark seems somehow related to the case, and Steve needs to figure out whether he's a victim, or perhaps the culprit—without getting too distracted by his charm.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hundredthousands](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hundredthousands/gifts).
  * Inspired by ['The Fire in Your Eyes' Illustrations](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14769120) by [hundredthousands](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hundredthousands/pseuds/hundredthousands). 



> Out of all the events in our amazingly active community, I think Cap-IM RBB is and may always be my favorite. Collaborating with our talented artists is just so much fun! This story is a prime example: what started from a few beautiful, intriguing pictures and a spark of an idea grew into a proper long fic full of fire and a mood inspired by film noir.
> 
> My artist this year was hundredthousands ([AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hundredthousands)/[tumblr](http://hundredthousands.tumblr.com)), and I couldn't have hoped for a better partner! And I'm not just saying this because of all the gorgeous art you made for our story—which I am still in awe about—but also because you were always so encouraging and helpful and easy to communicate with. Thank you so much for everything! <3
> 
> Finally, thank you for the thorough beta and many thoughtful conversations to [wynnesome](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wynnesome)—I think it was a learning experience for both of us!
> 
> *****
> 
> The art for the story is embedded in the text. You can also admire all of it in one place [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14769120). A tumblr post with some selected arts for sharing can be found [here](http://hundredthousands.tumblr.com/post/174307902796/the-fire-in-your-eyes-by-veldeia-veldeia%0A).

* * *

The note had been so concise that Tony couldn't help but feel suspicious. "Tony, we really need to talk," it had said, followed by an address, a time, and a date. The signature, just "Maya," without the last name, had been written in a hand that definitely looked like hers. Then again, he didn't know her all that well, and such things weren't difficult to fake.

Tony was suspicious, but he went anyway, because if it was from her, he wanted to know what she had to say—his last memories of her were vague, as were all his memories about what had happened at the Fountain. He was hoping she could shed some light on those events. If it wasn't from her, well, he had no idea who might've forged it or why, and he'd like to find out.

The note had been slightly suspicious, but the place the address pointed to was as shady as they came. It was a small, seemingly abandoned waterfront warehouse in South Brooklyn; the sort of place you'd expect for all sorts of questionable dealings. Definitely not where Tony would've picked to meet with a fellow academic to reminisce over a recent expedition gone awry. If the note was from Maya, the choice of location supported his hunch that she must've gotten mixed up in something nastier than the obscure long-dead languages that were her usual line of work.

Any cautious, reasonable person would probably have turned around at this point, but Tony had never been one of those.

The door wasn't locked. As he opened it and stepped into the dimly lit space beyond, he found himself wishing he'd brought a gun. He hadn't. He didn't walk around packing heat. Not anymore, now that the war was over. He'd seen enough shooting and killing to last a lifetime. Whatever was going on here, today, he was going to sort it out using his wits and his words.

"Maya?" he called out. "You in here?"

The inside of the warehouse was mostly empty, with a few dust-coated crates here and there—and several dark figures who stepped out of the shadows to surround him as soon as the door had closed behind his back.

"Your lady friend ain't here," said one of them, a man dressed in a well tailored suit and a fedora.

Tony took a step backwards, towards the door. "Well, I'll just be on my way, then."

A big, heavy hand landed on his shoulder, and as he turned his head to look behind him, he saw that it belonged to an equally massive mobster, half a head taller and nearly twice as wide as him. "Not so fast, buddy," the big man said.

"We'd like to have a few words with you," added the man who'd first addressed Tony. With his stylish clothing and waxed mustache, he gave the impression of being the brains of the troupe.

The others were less finely dressed, looking more like your average thug. There were three of them, in addition to the leader. The one to Tony's right wore brass knuckles; the one to his left had purposefully opened his jacket to show off the shoulder holsters. The one behind Tony seemed to rely on his size alone, and wasn't openly carrying any weapons.

"Sure. What would you like to talk about?" Tony said, keeping his voice casual. "The weather? The news? The latest fashion? I hear those hats are on the way out." He nodded towards the leader.

As he spoke, he was trying to come up with a strategy to get out of the situation in case things turned violent. He'd need to get the big thug behind him to move away from the door so he could rush out before he got knocked out or shot. Four against one. With him unarmed, these weren't great odds, but also not the worst he'd ever faced. He really should've brought a gun, though.

Mr. Fedora didn't seem amused at Tony's attempt at small talk. His expression stayed neutral, but his eyes were intently focused on Tony. "Our boss wants something you've got."

"You'll need to be a little more specific, I've got a lot of stuff," Tony returned. Of course, the things he imagined a mob boss might be interested in were such that he'd never consider handing them out, like the Iron Man armor and all the additional weaponry he and Jarvis had designed for it during the war.

"An artifact," Fedora said. "The one you recovered on your recent expedition."

Tony frowned at him, not even trying to hide his confusion. "I honestly have no clue what you're talking about."

It was definitely looking more and more like this trap had something to do with Maya, beyond the fact that her name had been on that note—how else would these thugs even know about the expedition? It hadn't exactly been front page news. But somehow, they'd gotten it wrong. Tony hadn't brought as much as a fragment of an artifact home with him. They'd left the cavern with the Fountain in ruins; it had very nearly become Tony's grave. No one would be able to get anything out of there without a massive digging operation, if even then, and that was for the best.

"Oh, but I think you do," Fedora said, and raised his hand, pointing a revolver at Tony's face. "If you value your life, you're gonna take us to it, and hand it over."

The big mobster's fingers tightened around Tony's shoulder, his hold bordering on painful. The two others shifted to more threatening stances, Knuckles raising his fists, and Holster pulling out his pistol.

Tony tensed up as well, ready to leap into action, when Big Guy suddenly grunted and let go of him. When Tony took a glance over his shoulder, he saw that the cuff of the thug's sleeve had somehow caught fire.

Tony got no warning for the gunshot; just the loud bang, all too close, and right after, a pain that slammed into his right knee, making his leg buckle under his weight. But as he fell, he saw Fedora drop his gun, flames flickering along his arm, and then one of the crates close to him erupted into fire, and suddenly, everything was ablaze.

Tony was stuck in an inferno, the blistering hot air burning at his lungs as he struggled to draw breath. He thought someone was screaming, but he wasn't sure, maybe that was just his ears ringing. It was too bright, so bright, he couldn't see, and—


	2. Chapter 1

* * *

The place looked like a scene from the war, Steve thought. Almost like someone had dropped a napalm bomb on the building. He could only guess at what it might've been like when it'd been still standing, earlier on the very same day: a small warehouse, mostly built of wood, with a corrugated iron roof. Now, there wasn't as much as a single section of wall left upright. It was a mess of rubble, pieces of burned timber and bent, blackened metal. Here and there, the rubble glistened with moisture, thanks to the FDNY's efforts to control the fire, but he could also see smoke rising from several spots. The firemen had said there would probably be areas left that were smouldering, and warned Steve to be careful, but they hadn't stopped him. Captain America tended to be given a lot of leeway when it came to such things.

He'd gotten to the scene a few hours after the first firemen—Bucky had called him as soon as he'd realized this was worth investigating, and then it'd taken him a moment to put on his costume and drive over to Red Hook. Of course, at first, there hadn't been much for him to do, anyway, but wait for the flames to be put out entirely. The firemen he'd talked to had said the whole thing was freakish; that it seemed far more intense than they would've expected from a fire in a supposedly empty building. That made it exactly the sort of thing Steve was looking for.

This was the second uncanny fire within a week. The first one, which had gotten Steve assigned to this case, had been very different. It had taken place at a party in Janet van Dyne's townhouse, and had been limited to one room, although the soot and smoke had damaged property beyond that. What had marked that incident as unusual was that several witnesses had reported seeing a burning man at the heart of it. Not someone whose clothes had caught fire, but someone who was actually in flames, as if they came from within. No one knew where he'd come from or where he'd gone. The descriptions sounded all too much like a few people Steve knew; he'd worked alongside two men with such abilities in the war. That, and the fact that Captain America was well prepared to face people with special talents, were the reasons he was now playing at being a detective, trying to trace the mysterious arsonist.

He'd called Toro the first thing after he'd heard of the fire at van Dyne's house, but the young man had assured Steve he knew nothing about that. Unfortunately, the Human Torch had gone missing soon after the war had ended, and Steve didn't know his whereabouts. Toro had sworn he didn't know, either, and Steve believed him. This didn't make the Torch's absence any less dubious, but Steve couldn't imagine why he'd be involved in this either. Steve knew both of them well, and would've trusted them with his life, like all the Invaders. Toro and the Torch were good men. They wouldn't go around setting random buildings on fire any more than Steve would.

There were no eyewitness reports of the current scene aside from the cab driver who'd spotted the flames and smoke and called in the authorities. He hadn't seen anyone at the site, and the firemen had been grim when Steve had asked about potential victims. If anyone had been inside the building when they'd gotten here, that person wouldn't be alive anymore. No one could've survived this.

He looked around at the piles of rubble that had been walls and ceiling mere hours ago. There could still be a mundane explanation to this. Maybe it would turn out that the warehouse hadn't been empty, after all, but a secret, illegal storage for something highly flammable. Looking at it, though, he didn't see any hints of anything like that. No remains of containers of any kind.

Steve wasn't even sure what he hoped to find here. The FDNY and the NYPD would do a proper investigation of the site, to see if they could figure out what had started the fire, and Steve held no illusions of being better at that than the experts.

He was considering turning around and heading back to the others when a noise from deeper within the ruins caught his ear: a low groan that could've been just from the strain on the fallen sheets and beams of metal. Moving cautiously, trying not to step on anything unsteady or scalding hot, he made his way closer.

Something shifted where the noise had come from; a sheet of corrugated iron that'd been a part of the roof lifted up slightly and then fell down again. There was no mistaking the sound that followed for creaking metal. It was a frustrated growl, followed by coughing.

Steve had been convinced there couldn't possibly be anyone left alive after the fire, and yet, it seemed like there was. They must be horribly burned, in need of immediate medical attention.

Steve hurried to cover the remaining ground to the source of the sounds. Trusting his gloves to protect his hands from any remaining heat, he grabbed the sheet of metal and lifted it aside.

A figure covered in soot and debris struggled up from the rubble in a cloud of dust, coughing more intensely now. To Steve's amazement, although the man's clothes were hanging from him in scorched tatters, the skin that Steve saw underneath seemed just grimy instead of blackened or blistered. If he had burns, they were far less severe than Steve might've expected. His face was as smeared with dirt as the rest of him, obscuring the lines of his dark moustache and beard, making the clear blue of his eyes stand out.

"Hey there! It's okay," Steve called out, offering the man his arm.

The blue eyes grew wider as they met Steve's, the man's lips curling into a smile as he accepted Steve's assistance. "Captain America! There's a face I wasn't expecting!"

"You can always expect to see me where people need help," Steve said, returning the smile. "Come on. It's not safe here."

With Steve's support, the man climbed out of the space he'd been in—a nook between fallen beams leaning against one another, just large enough to fit him. As soon as he was on level ground, he straightened up, taking in the sad state of his clothing. There was barely enough fabric left to keep him decent; the remains of his trousers were hanging from his belt like a loincloth, and what must've been a jacket and a shirt now resembled a vest, revealing glimpses of wiry muscles underneath.

He looked at Steve again, his earlier smile gone, a deep frown in its place. "Uh. You wouldn't happen to know what happened?" 

Steve had thought he'd need to carry the burn victim to the rescue crew, and maybe wait for several days before he got to talk to them, but this man seemed to be in good shape; he'd stopped coughing, and clearly had no trouble carrying his own weight. Steve couldn't spot any obvious injuries. He decided he could as well take a few minutes to interview him right away.

"I was going to ask you that," Steve said. "But first, how about you tell me who you are?"

"Right, where are my manners? Of course you'd not recognize me like this," the man said, wiped his sooty hand on the remains of his shirt, started to offer it to Steve, then seemed to realize it was still filthy, and pulled it back. "Better not, I guess. Tony Stark. I believe we've met."

"Mr. Stark," Steve repeated, baffled. "Well, this is a surprise."

Steve, or rather, Captain America, had indeed met Tony Stark during the war. Tony and his armored alter ego, Iron Man, had been at least as famous as Cap. Unlike Steve, Tony hadn't hidden his true identity, and his past as an adventurer with a popular magazine had made him one of the best known heroes on the front. They had been aware of one another, had met a few times and shaken hands, but they'd never had a proper conversation beyond passing small talk. Steve couldn't deny that based on those brief encounters, he'd found Tony intriguing, even charming.

"Believe me, I'm just as surprised as you are," Tony said, glancing past Steve. The look on his face grew more and more shocked as he took in the surroundings, his complexion going pale beneath the soot. "Where are we? What happened here? This looks like a war zone!"

"It's not, though, just a regular fire, and the situation is under control," Steve said reassuringly. "You don't remember?" If Tony had no memory of what'd happened, that was worrisome. "Did you hit your head?"

Tony raised his hand to feel around his skull, making his already tangled hair stick up even worse, then shrugged. "I don't know. I don't think so. No headache, and I don't have any bruises, either."

"And you feel okay, otherwise?" Steve checked, starting to wonder if he should've hurried to take Tony in for first aid anyway.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Aside from an itchy knee," Tony said, and reached down to rub at his right knee. The leg of his trouser was completely burned away, and some of the smears on his bare skin looked suspiciously like blood, but there was no obvious injury there that Steve could see.

"But you don't remember anything at all about the fire?" Steve asked again.

Tony pursed his lips and shook his head. "I don't even remember how I got here, wherever here is. Honestly, it's pretty disturbing."

"Clearly you're not fine, then," Steve said, his mind made up. "I'll escort you to the emergency personnel, have someone make sure you don't have a concussion."

"That's really not necessary," Tony said, waving a dismissive hand in the air. It would've been more effective if he hadn't looked like he'd been through the wringer.

"I insist, Mr. Stark," Steve said, and put a hand on Tony's back to nudge him in the right direction.

"Oh, all right, then, Captain," Tony relented.

It took them some time to navigate a safe path through the rubble to open ground, back to where the remaining fire engines and police cars were parked. Tony followed Steve's lead, his footsteps steady and unwavering. Except for his purported amnesia, he didn't give the impression of someone who had a head injury.

If this had been anyone other than Tony Stark, a war hero whose accomplishments equaled Steve's own, Steve would've been extremely sceptical. It seemed awfully convenient that Tony was here, miraculously unharmed, and claimed he didn't remember a thing. If he'd been someone Steve had never heard of, he would've found him a likely suspect. Then again, if Tony had been the arsonist, wouldn't he have escaped the scene rather than ending up trapped as he'd been? It did sound more likely that he'd been a victim, in which case, the amnesia might well be real, not some attempt to hide things from Steve.

"I'll want to ask you more questions later," Steve told Tony before leaving him to the rescue personnel. "I'm investigating another fire that took place earlier this week, and there's a chance this one might be connected."

"Sure. You can pay me a visit any time. I'd give you my card, but," Tony spread his arms to unnecessarily indicate his lack of intact pockets. "My address isn't difficult to come by, anyway. I'll be at your service for whatever you need, Captain," Tony finished with a smile that, in spite of his grimy face, managed to look dazzling.

Steve was glad for the mask he was wearing, because it hopefully hid some of his flustered expression. He could've sworn Tony was flirting with him, but he knew that was wishful thinking. No doubt it was just Tony being his charismatic self. He had no secret identity, and held a reputation as quite the ladies' man. Steve, on the other hand, was always careful to separate Captain America, the flawless icon, and Steve Rogers, a man with preferences that were generally considered questionable.

"Thank you," Steve said, hoping it sounded more steady than he felt. "Take care of yourself, Mr. Stark."

He resisted the urge to look back over his shoulder as he walked away. As suave as Tony was, Steve wasn't going to let that affect his judgement. He knew he needed to stay impartial. Even if Tony's background made him an unlikely culprit, it wasn't impossible that he was somehow involved in whatever had caused the fires. So far, Steve didn't have enough information to come up with even the beginnings of a theory for what might be going on. He needed more to work with.

He headed back into the ruined building, looking around for any clues he might've missed. The spot where he'd found Tony was as they'd left it; the beams hadn't collapsed any further, and the small space where Tony had been stuck was still open. Moving as cautiously as he could, Steve peered into it.

As far as he could tell, there was nothing in particular that would've kept this hollow cool amidst the blaze, and yet, it didn't seem as badly burned as most of the rest. Tony must've gotten incredibly lucky.

Steve's eyes caught something at the bottom of the hollow that stood out among the debris: a scrap of paper, its edges singed and curled up. He bent down to reach for it. There was barely enough room for his upper body between the beams, but he managed to fish out what looked like the remains of a note of some kind, or maybe a letter. For it to end up where it'd been, Steve was willing to bet it'd been in Tony's pocket, and maybe his body had partially protected it from the flames. As it was, most of it had still burned away. Steve couldn't even say for sure what size the original sheet of paper might've been. The remaining text was smeared beyond legibility, except for one word written in a neat hand: "Maya."

Steve carefully stowed the piece of paper in one of his belt pouches. He'd need to ask Tony what it meant, and see if it might refresh his memory.

He spent some more time combing the surroundings for additional evidence, but came up empty-handed. Twilight was setting in, the surroundings starting to grow dark. He decided he'd leave the rest of the crime scene investigation for the professionals.

He made his way back to the fire engines, and found out Tony had already left. Apparently, he'd managed to convince the people he'd talked to that he wasn't injured.

Steve considered whether he should go and visit Tony right away, but that seemed overzealous. It was getting late, and Tony, even if he hadn't been hurt, had clearly been through a distressing experience. Steve would let him catch a night's sleep, and go see him tomorrow. Hopefully he'd remember more, then.


	3. Chapter 2

* * *

The next day, Steve resisted the urge to show up at Tony's door at sunrise—he figured Tony might want to sleep in after the kind of day he'd had, and it would be rude to bother him too early. He gave it until ten, then drove over to the Stark residence on his bike. The building was exactly as impressive as Steve would've imagined: a beautiful townhouse in Gramercy Park, each floor easily as large as Steve's modest apartment.

He felt a tad too excited as he knocked on the door and waited for someone to answer. He reminded himself he wasn't here to make friends, but to work on the investigation.

It wasn't Tony who opened the door, but an older man with bushy white hair, sideburns and mustache. He was dressed casually, the motor oil stain on one sleeve hinting at working on mechanical things. "Good morning, Captain," he greeted Steve, seemingly unsurprised to have a costumed visitor. "Tony mentioned you might be stopping by."

"Morning," Steve returned. "Is he in, then?"

The man shook his head. "I'm afraid he's just left."

Steve was slightly surprised at that; clearly, Tony hadn't slept in, then. "Do you know when he might be back?"

"Not a clue," the man said curtly. "I'm not his butler, nor his chaperone, like plenty of people seem to think. Sometimes, him included."

Steve had to admit he'd thought that, too. With the very fancy house, it seemed like the obvious conclusion that the man opening the door would be an employee. "Sorry, I didn't mean to presume," Steve said, and held out his hand. "Pleased to meet you, Mr…"

"Jarvis," the not-butler said, without elaborating on what it was that he actually did, and shook Steve's hand firmly.

"Would you mind answering a few questions?" Steve suggested. If he couldn't talk to Tony, interviewing the people close to him might help him get a better idea of what was going on.

Jarvis sighed, clearly not eager about the prospect, but nevertheless, said, "I suppose I should, when Captain America asks."

Jarvis led Steve to a cozy parlor decorated with all kinds of exotic artifacts and trophies—just the sort of thing he might've expected based on Tony's background. It was all fascinating. If Tony were here, Steve imagined he'd happily tell stories about how he came across each one of them. Instead, there was only Jarvis, who took a seat in one of the armchairs, his expression disinterested. Steve followed his example.

"So, if you don't work for Mr. Stark," Steve began, "what exactly is your relationship to him?"

"I'm a mentor, a colleague, and an old friend," Jarvis said, and for the first time, Steve heard some warmth in his voice.

"You've known him a long time, then?"

Jarvis actually smiled at that. "Since before he learned how to tie his own tie. You'd be hard pressed to find anyone who knows him better."

"Good, good." Steve could definitely use that kind of insight into Tony's character. "You know why I'm interested in what he's been up to recently, right?"

"Yes. He said it's related to that fire he managed to get caught up in yesterday," Jarvis said.

"Did he mention anything else about that?"

Jarvis leaned back, crossing his arms. "Not really. He did sound unnerved, and that's saying something. After all the things Tony's seen, he doesn't scare easily."

Steve studied Jarvis's face carefully, looking for any hint that he wasn't telling everything. He was usually quite good at reading people, but Jarvis didn't give away much. Either he was being honest, or he had an impeccable poker face.

"I bet he doesn't, but it was really bad. No one was expecting there to be survivors," Steve said.

That didn't seem to impress Jarvis in the slightest. "Clearly, they didn't know he was there. He has a penchant for trouble and more lives than a cat."

"Has he, by any chance, been in more trouble than usual recently?" Steve tried.

"No. Not more than usual," Jarvis replied. Again, as hard as Steve tried to interpret his tone and expression, he couldn't decide whether Jarvis had maybe replied just the fraction of a second too quickly, or if that was just how he usually spoke.

This was turning out to be a rather pointless conversation; so far all Steve had gotten was the confirmation that Tony's adventurous reputation was real, and not a fiction created for his magazine.

He was considering what to ask next, when there was a noise from the direction of the door. That must be Tony returning. Steve straightened up in his chair, the earlier excitement bubbling up, entirely unasked for. Again, it turned out to be premature.

The voice that called out from the hallway was unfamiliar to Steve, and female. "Tony? You awake yet?"

"It's just me and a visiting celebrity here," Jarvis replied to her.

A moment later, the newcomer joined them in the parlor. She was a beautiful red-headed woman, around Steve's age, smartly dressed in a dark brown pant suit. "Well, there's a VIP if I ever saw one. Pepper Potts," she introduced herself to Steve, who stood up to shake her hand. Although she was smiling, she seemed reserved, sizing him up with her eyes. "I thought Tony'd be around. We were supposed to talk about the draft over brunch," she added to Jarvis.

"I'm not sure he remembered that. He went to see Jan," Jarvis said.

Steve didn't miss the name. He knew Janet van Dyne, the host of the unfortunate party with the first fire, often went by that nickname. Come to think of it, Tony may well have been there. Steve had asked Jan for a guest list, but there hadn't been one; it'd been an unofficial gathering without formal invitations. She'd promised to write down all the names she remembered for his next visit. He decided that visit would take place as soon as he was done here.

Pepper huffed, shaking her head. "I'm going to give him a call to remind him, and get to work anyway. I'll be in the study." She headed off in quick, sharp steps. 

"I suppose she's Mr. Stark's lady?" Steve asked Jarvis once she was out of sight, feeling ever so slightly disappointed, even if he wasn't surprised. Of course Tony would have someone. Possibly even multiple someones, depending on the day, if his reputation was anything to go by.

"Hm, you haven't read Marvels, have you?" Jarvis returned.

"Not really, no." Steve wondered if he should, for further insight into the case. "One or two issues, way back before the war. Why?"

"Pepper's the one currently writing it. Raised quite the hubbub when the first issue came out with her name on the cover," Jarvis explained. "And no, she's not his lady."

"How about this Jan he's visiting, then? That wouldn't happen to be one Janet van Dyne, would it?" Steve pressed on.

There was a flash of surprise in Jarvis's eyes, like he hadn't anticipated Steve to pick up on that name. "It is. She's an old friend of Tony's, since they were kids." He paused, his eyes on Steve, and his look shifted to a scowl. When he went on, it was in a different tone, one that was bordering on defensive. "For the record, if you're imagining these fires might link Tony to some kind of a passion crime, you're barking up the wrong tree. He may be a ladies' man on paper, but reality's a little more complicated."

Did he mean that Tony was—no, surely, Jarvis couldn't be saying what Steve thought he was. Tony wasn't like Steve. Not Tony Stark. Besides, even if he were, that wouldn't change the fact that he was at the center of Steve's investigation.

"How so?" Steve asked, trying to keep his voice neutral.

"His private matters are his own," Jarvis declared. "All I'm saying is, whatever you think is going on, he's involved with neither Pepper nor Jan, and if anyone claims he is, they're lying."

"Duly noted," Steve said.

The way Jarvis was talking about this, defensive almost to the point of being angry, made it sound like there were things about Tony's private life he didn't want Steve prodding at. It didn't have to mean that Tony liked men. Maybe he was into something else that would be frowned upon if it got out into the open.

One thing this conversation had told Steve was that Jarvis must've dealt with suspicions like this before, and was very protective of Tony. If Tony was, in fact, up to something that wouldn't stand the light of day, it was obvious Jarvis would never admit it.

"Do you know if, by any chance, Tony was at a party Miss van Dyne threw five days ago?" Steve tried.

"He might well have been. I don't know. As I said, I'm not his chaperone. Is that all?" The glum look on Jarvis's face suggested that it had better be.

Although Steve had clearly overstayed his welcome, he didn't want to skip the last thing on his list. "One more thing, if that's okay: does the word 'Maya' mean anything to you?"

Jarvis raised his bushy eyebrows, but Steve couldn't say whether he was surprised at the question because it was so unexpected, or because it did mean something to him. "Of course it does. They were one of the most advanced Mesoamerican cultures. What does that have to do with anything?"

Steve didn't want to tell Jarvis about the note, since he wasn't sure he could trust him. "I don't know yet. Anyway, that was all I had in mind, for now," he said. He then pulled one of his cards out of his pocket to offer it to Jarvis. It had his official Captain America phone number on it, the one he only gave out in special circumstances. He figured this counted as one. "Could you tell Mr. Stark to call me once he gets home?"

"I'll do that, but I wouldn't sit by the phone all day waiting, if I were you. There's no telling how late he'll be," Jarvis warned. Steve wondered if he might be planning on dropping the card in the nearest trash can so Tony would never even see it. Hopefully not.

"Oh, I'm much too busy for that, don't worry. Thank you for your time," Steve said, as politely as he could. "I can show myself out."

He half expected Jarvis to insist on accompanying him, which would've convinced him there were things in the house Jarvis wanted to hide. He didn't, though, bidding Steve goodbye instead, then heading towards the direction where Pepper had gone.

Steve wasn't about to go snooping around in someone's house just because they were a little suspicious. He'd only consider it if he came across a solid reason to think Tony was responsible for the fires. For now, his next step towards looking for one was to visit Janet van Dyne; if he was lucky, he might even catch Tony there.

Jan's townhouse was close enough to Tony's that one could've covered the distance on foot, but since it was currently undergoing cleanup and repairs after the fire, she'd taken refuge in a suite at the Waldorf Astoria. Not quite as near, but still, only a couple of miles, and the traffic wasn't bad. On his bike, it took Steve just under ten minutes.

It turned out he was still too late.

"Oh, you've just missed him," was the first thing Jan said, once Steve had reached the opulent lobby and had the receptionist connect him to her suite.

"That's the second time today," Steve grumbled, mostly to himself. "Did he say where he was going?"

"No, but it definitely wasn't home," Jan said. "He got a call from Pepper—Miss Potts—and told her he might not be coming back before the evening."

Steve sighed. So much for talking to Tony as soon as possible. Maybe he should've ignored his manners and showed up at sunrise, after all. "I guess I'll just have to wait until tomorrow, then, and hope he's less busy. How about you? I have a few more questions about the fire. Are you in a hurry?"

"I have nothing until noon. I'd be happy to help, if I can. Please, come on up."

Jan was a fashion designer and a style icon, and had been as well known as Tony before the war. Her townhouse also equaled Tony's, when it came to lavishness, but was decorated with paintings and sculptures instead of mementos from around the world. The suite she was currently living in was, if anything, even more luxurious, matching the extravagance of the entrance floor. Steve guessed they wouldn't even have let him in if he'd been wearing the regular street clothing he went for when not in costume. Luckily, Captain America was welcome anywhere, whatever the dress code.

"I'm afraid the coffee's been sitting in the pot for some time. I ordered it before Tony showed up," Jan said. "I'll call and ask them to bring a fresh batch, if you'd like?" The contrast between her politeness and the sour treatment Steve had gotten from Jarvis earlier couldn't have been more obvious.

"No, that's fine." Steve appreciated the gesture, but wasn't in the mood for pleasantries, not after a morning that so far hadn't been very successful. "What you could do is go get that guest list for the party that I asked for, if you have one."

"Ah, of course, just one minute," Jan said, and disappeared into the next room.

Steve didn't sit down, but took up pacing, his eyes skimming over the decor. The gold-trimmed velvet curtains, ornate furniture and carpets were probably worth several months' salary. It might've impressed him more if he'd been feeling less grouchy. It wasn't just that Tony was somehow constantly one step ahead of him. He was also angry at himself for getting so worked up about the whole thing, and that translated into an irrational annoyance towards Tony, as much as he was also intrigued by the man. All in all, he was failing spectacularly at staying objective and detached.

Jan soon returned with a sheet of paper that had at least fifty names written on it in a curly hand. "That's everyone I could remember, but I can't promise for sure that I haven't forgotten a few," she said apologetically.

Steve skimmed through the list, and sure enough, the name he was looking for was on it. "Mr. Stark was at your party," he noted aloud.

"He was," Jan admitted. "He tends to be, if he's in town, and whenever he organizes something, I'm there in turn. Always good fun. If I may ask, why're you so interested in what Tony's up to?"

Steve didn't see any reason not to explain the whole situation to her. "I don't know if he told you, but there was another fire last night, and Tony was caught in it. Which made me wonder if there might be a connection between the two."

"And it looks an awful lot like the connecting factor might be him," Jan filled in. She sighed and shook her head. "Oh, Tony. What've you gotten yourself into this time?"

That wasn't the reaction Steve had been expecting; he'd thought she'd either be surprised, or try to deny Tony's involvement. "So, you think he might have something to do with the fires?"

"Well, it seems like simple enough mathematics," Jan said, biting her lip. "Two fires, and Tony caught in both of them—I bet he's angered someone he shouldn't have. Would hardly be the first time. I guess that could explain all the secrecy."

Apparently, the intuition of someone who knew Tony well was that he was the victim, and the fires were attacks against him. It sounded plausible, and Steve wanted to believe it, but wishful thinking wasn't evidence.

"What secrecy?" he asked.

"Oh, it's just that when he was around earlier, he was also asking about the people who were at the party, and he seemed quite agitated about it. I got the impression that he knew something about what might be going on, but he refused to tell me." Jan let out an angry huff. "It's my house that got burned. If he knows what's behind it, I think I deserve to know."

"That's awfully rude of him," Steve said. "If I find out anything at all, you can trust me to tell you."

"Thank you, Captain. I appreciate that," Jan said, with a grateful smile.

"So, has Mr. Stark been, overall, acting different than usual recently, aside from today?" Steve went on with the questions. This was turning out to be a much more useful interview than the one he'd had with Jarvis.

"I couldn't say, really. The party was the first time I saw him since he got back," Jan replied.

Jarvis hadn't as much as implied that Tony had been away, but that didn't have to mean he was being secretive; it was equally likely he'd just thought it wasn't relevant.

"Back from where?"

"He went on an expedition—he and the rest of his team. They were gone for over a month. I think it was somewhere in South America? Or Central, maybe? I'm not sure. Exploring all kinds of exotic places with ancient ruins is what he does," Jan explained, as if she wasn't sure whether Steve knew that. "He used to do it before the war, and went back to it, after."

"For his magazine, right," Steve said. "So, you've only seen him at the party and today, and today he seemed agitated. Was he his usual self at the party?"

"If anything, I'd say he was—I don't know, he almost seemed healthier?" Jan placed her hand pensively on her chin, then hurriedly added, "Not that he usually isn't healthy. I'm not sure how to describe it. I don't know, maybe it was just that you could see he'd spent a lot of time outdoors in the sun."

"Okay. Thank you, this has all been very useful," Steve said, offering her a smile. "I've got one more question, if you don't mind."

"Of course."

"Does the word 'Maya' mean anything to you?" Steve tried, going out on a limb. Wouldn't hurt to ask her.

"Not really. Only thing I can think of is the ancient culture?" Jan suggested, mirroring Jarvis's earlier words. "Tony's certainly visited plenty of Mayan ruins. Maybe even on this recent expedition. I'm sorry, I didn't catch the details of it, so I'm not sure."

That sounded like one potential explanation for why the word had been in the note Tony had dropped, and yet, it still didn't make any sense. What did ancient ruins in Central America have to do with a warehouse fire in Brooklyn?

He really needed to catch hold of Tony Stark.


	4. Chapter 3

* * *

Steve's plan for the day had mainly revolved around having a proper chat with Tony, and then winging it from there. He still hadn't found Tony, and had no idea where to look for him, either. Clearly, he'd need to change his approach.

To start with, he drove over to the police precinct where Bucky was currently stationed, and stopped on the way to pick up sandwiches for lunch. It was around midday, after all, and he could use a bite.

The NYPD had graciously offered Steve a temporary office within their headquarters at 240 Centre Street that he could use for the duration of this investigation. Bucky's current job was to sit there by a radio receiver, listening in on emergency traffic to keep a close ear on reports of any unusual fires anywhere in the city. This was how they'd caught the warehouse fire on the previous day.

"Oh! Lunch!" Bucky greeted Steve happily as he entered the room with a paper bag in hand.

As much as Steve knew Bucky was only a few years younger than him and had seen as much of the horrors of war as he had, it was difficult to stop thinking of him like his kid brother. Bucky has stopped wearing his costume since, and looked like any young man just shy of turning twenty. He could certainly take care of himself, better than most people, but knowing that didn't dampen Steve's protective streak at all.

"Nice to see you too, Buck," Steve said, and handed over the spoils. "Any news today?"

"Nothing out of the usual," Bucky said, going straight for the food. "The last I heard, there was some apartment fire in Greenwich Village. First radio traffic was around half an hour ago. It doesn't sound particularly unusual, though. Could be a regular accident."

"It could still be relevant." Steve had no particular reason to think it would be, but just the fact that there was another fire while no one seemed to know where Tony had gone made him feel uneasy. It didn't take him long to make up his mind. "I'll go check it out, just in case."

"Right now? Aren't you going to eat your sandwich?" Bucky raised the bag towards Steve with his free hand.

"You can have it, you sure seem hungry enough," Steve said. He could grab lunch later. Right now, this was more important. "Can you get me an address?"

Bucky put down the bag and the sandwich, as eager to help as always. "Sure. Give me a minute, I'll call the local station."

Five minutes later, Steve waved good-bye to Bucky at the door, and headed out the way he'd come, back on his bike, and straight to the site of the fire.

The neighborhood was middle-class, that neutral halfway point between the seedy warehouse and Tony and Jan's luxurious homes. Even without the fire engines parked in front of the five-story apartment building and the ladders leaning against the wall, it wouldn't have been difficult to see which apartment was burning: thick smoke was rising from several open, or broken, windows.

A small crowd of onlookers had gathered to witness the incident. Steve decided to approach them first, instead of disturbing the firemen who were clearly hard at work. Some of the people seemed like they'd just been passing by, dressed in regular street clothes, while others must've hurried out of the building in various states of dress, or rather, undress.

An older lady in a bathrobe, with rollers in her hair, rushed towards Steve as soon as her eyes landed on him. "Captain America! I'm so glad you're here!" Before Steve realized what was happening, she'd wrapped her arms around him.

Steve patted her back a little awkwardly, and muttered, "It's all right," even though that felt like half a lie when he didn't really know what was going on.

For a moment, he was worried she might have broken out in tears, but when she let go, she was smiling at him shyly. "I'm sure it will be all right, now that you're here. I can't believe this, it's really you! You're so tall!"

"If there's anything at all I can do to help, I will, ma'am," Steve promised. He wanted to ask her if she knew what was going on, but couldn't come up with a tactful way to do that—for all he knew, it might be her home that was on fire.

Luckily, she didn't need any encouragement; realizing that Captain America was standing right there, willing to listen to her woes, seemed to be enough to open the floodgates. "I should've called the police the first thing when I heard those noises from upstairs! If only I'd known it'd lead to this—the thing is, the tenant there hadn't been around for over a month, and then suddenly there's all this shouting and thrashing around, and the next thing I know, the fire alarm is going off! I really hope it won't spread to my home!"

"Those firemen are very good at their job," Steve assured her. "Can you tell me more about this upstairs neighbor? Do you know them well?"

"Not well, no, I wouldn't say. She's not the most talkative sort. Bookish. I think she's a scholar of some kind, maybe a historian?" the lady said thoughtfully.

"What's her name?" Steve asked.

"Miss Hansen," she answered. "Maya Hansen."

Steve gaped at her, taken completely at unawares.

Maya. That wasn't a common name. It couldn't possibly be a coincidence.

Maya Hansen, a bookish historian, had been away for a month, and now her house was on fire. Tony had been away on an expedition for a month, and he'd ended up involved in two fires.

Jarvis and Jan had been wrong; it wasn't about the Mayan culture. It made a lot more sense that the word on the note Steve had found was a name, maybe even a signature. He couldn't help wondering if Tony's two friends had purposefully not told him about her. He could easily imagine Jarvis doing that. Jan, not so much, but Jan had genuinely seemed to not know very much about the expedition.

The lady looked back at him with some concern in her eyes. "Sorry—do you know her?"

She must've taken Steve's surprised look for concern over a friend. "No, I don't, but she might be a friend of friends," Steve replied. "Is there anything else you can tell me about her? Do you know where she works?"

"The university, I think? It's practically next door, anyway," the lady said.

She must be referring to the New York University campus, maybe fifteen minutes' walk away. That gave Steve a new direction to pursue with his investigation: contact the university and ask around to see if anyone there could tell him more about Maya.

"How about these voices you heard from her apartment? Do you think hers was one of them?" Steve checked.

"No, no, definitely not. They were all men. At least two, maybe three, and they were arguing. I couldn't make out the words," the lady said apologetically.

"That's already very helpful. Thank you so much."

He reached out a hand to shake hers, because it seemed like she'd appreciate that. She did, indeed, taking hold of Steve's gloved fingers with both hands and beaming at him as if she'd been blessed by the Pope himself.

Once she let go of his hand, Steve figured it was time to move on; he didn't expect to learn much more from her. He approached the rest of the onlookers next. Many of them were already staring at him, thanks to the costume that made him stand out.

"Excuse me," he raised his voice to catch their full attention. "I'm trying to look into what could have caused this fire. Did any of you see or hear anything unusual, before or after the alarm went off?"

"A flying man who was on fire!" came in the clear voice of a little girl.

Steve looked her up from the crowd. She was maybe five years old, and smartly dressed, with her hair in carefully arranged curls. He guessed she must've been outside when the fire started.

A woman who was probably her mother had already placed a hand on the girl's shoulder. "Hush, now, Mary. You shouldn't tell stories to the Captain."

"It's not a story," a bald man dressed in a slightly rumpled suit spoke up. "I saw that too, but I don't think he was flying, I think he fell. From one of the windows."

A child's story was one thing, but two people saying the same thing—and a man on fire, again, exactly the same as at Jan's party—confirmed without a doubt that this was related. 

The fire was on the fourth floor. A fall from that height would have stopped any regular human, but it didn't sound like he'd been taken in by the emergency personnel. The description was all too familiar, again, reminding Steve of the Torch performing feats like this. But if Steve's preliminary theory of someone being out to get Tony was true, it couldn't possibly be the Torch. He wouldn't go around attacking innocent people.

"Where did he land? Did he go somewhere?" Steve asked hurriedly.

"I think he ran away, in that direction," the bald man waved a hand roughly towards the north. "I'm not sure, I wasn't very close."

Steve had to restrain himself not to rush that way instantly. That would most likely be pointless. Almost an hour had passed since then; the mysterious burning man might be miles away by now, especially if he could move faster than a normal person.

The best course of action was to see if he could learn more here. He took a deep breath to calm down, and went on interviewing the crowd. "Did anyone else see him?"

A few people raised their hands, but unfortunately, no one could offer any more details; they'd all been too far away. The place where the man had supposedly hit the ground was right in the middle of where the firemen were currently working, so now wasn't a good time to investigate that, but since the crowd had provided him with what information they had, perhaps it was the time to go and talk to the authorities.

None of the firemen Steve saw seemed familiar to him—the previous fire in Brooklyn had clearly fallen under the responsibility of a different station—but he had met the police duo before, when he'd been briefed regarding the fire at Jan's house. They were currently standing by their car, talking to one one the firemen. Steve got as far as waving a hand at them in greeting when a commotion at the door of the burning building had everyone turn around.

As Steve and the policemen walked closer to find out what was happening, the gathered onlookers tried to do the same. A fireman hurried up to Steve and the police. "They're bringing out a casualty. From what I hear, it isn't pretty. Can you give us a hand holding back the crowd?"

"Of course," Steve said, his stomach dropping at the mention of a casualty. Had Tony's pursuers finally gotten to him? Was Steve going to end up investigating a homicide instead of arson?

Steve joined the authorities in herding the crowd away and clearing a path for the firefighters carrying a gurney out of the front doors. They'd covered the victim with a blanket to shield them from view, but the glimpses Steve caught were enough to put his fears to rest. The outline of the figure under the cloth was unmistakably bigger than Tony; even though the person's height was hard to estimate, he was bulky and barrel-chested. Tony's build was much slimmer.

As soon as the firemen with the gurney had passed the crowd, Steve followed them.

A fireman with weather-beaten skin and a graying beard acknowledged him with a nod. "Captain. What can we do for you?"

"Any chance he'll make it?" Steve gestured towards the gurney that was being lifted to an ambulance.

The fireman shook his head. "I'm afraid it's just a matter of declaring him dead and carrying him to the morgue. Poor guy. I've seen my share of burn victims over the years, but this—there was something not right about the whole thing. I don't know what the hell happened here."

"That's what I'm trying to find out," Steve said. It was frustrating that after several days, he had barely made any headway.

"I heard about those other fires. Do you think this is connected?" another fireman, a boyish-looking one that reminded Steve of Bucky, asked.

"I think so," Steve replied. At least that was one thing he was fairly certain of. "Too many similarities for it to be a coincidence. Do you know if there were other victims beside this one?" he asked, hoping the answer would be "no".

The older fireman crushed that hope right away. "Yes, one other. He stumbled out of the apartment just when we got here."

Steve had to bite his lip not to blurt out "Was it Tony Stark?" right away. His questions still came in an anxious rush: "Was he okay? Where did he end up? Did you find out who he was?"

"A lot better than this one. Smoke inhalation and some nasty burns. He went to the hospital with a police escort, and will probably stay there for several days," the same man replied.

"Why a police escort?" Steve's mind instantly leaped to thinking it might be because the burn victim needed to be kept safe, but he did realize that wasn't the only possible explanation.

Again, the answer wasn't what he'd first thought. "There were certain suspicions of his involvement in the fire. One of the policemen recognized him as someone who's been mixed up in shady business before. I didn't catch a name. You should go ask them." The fireman finished by nodding towards the police patrol Steve hadn't yet had a chance to talk to.

"Right, I'll do that. Thank you for your time."

A conversation with the policemen confirmed what the fireman had told him: the burn victim who'd been taken to the hospital had been identified as a small-time crook who went by the name of "Suave Simon". He'd been in so much pain and coughing so badly that they hadn't gotten anything coherent out of him regarding what had happened, but just knowing who he was made his presence at the site of this fire suspicious. In addition to a few tidbits of information about Simon, the policeman also gave Steve a list of known haunts for the man, in case he wanted to go looking for Simon's friends and accomplices.

All in all, Steve had clearly made the right call in hurrying over to see the fire first-hand. He had a number of new clues to follow, and two possible lines of inquiry: he could either look into Maya Hansen, the historian whose apartment was now in ruin, or Suave Simon, the mobster who might or might not have been involved in burning it. Unfortunately, both of these approaches seemed to lead him further from Tony, and from the mysterious burning man—the two people Steve was really interested in.


	5. Chapter 4

* * *

Steve lingered at the site of the fire until he was sure he'd learned absolutely everything there was to know about it. There were no additional revelations. The FDNY managed to get the fire under control, but as with the previous fires, the investigation concerning how it had started would take much longer, and he'd have to wait several days for even the preliminary report.

Finally, when he was convinced there was nothing to be gained from spending more time at the site, he headed back towards the police headquarters to check with Bucky. That visit was short: there was no news. At least it seemed like their mysterious burning man hadn't set anything else on fire today. Steve thanked Bucky for his good work once again, and told him to head home whenever he felt like it. It was around five in the afternoon already, and he didn't expect Bucky to sit by the radio around the clock.

As for himself, Steve drove home to regroup and consider his next steps. It seemed obvious which of his two options he should pick for tonight. He wasn't sure there'd be anyone around at the university in the evening. He didn't even know which specific faculty or department Maya Hansen worked at, so he'd first need to contact someone who could tell him that, and office hours were already over. It sounded like something he'd have more luck with in the morning. Whereas for the shady dealings of Suave Simon and his accomplices, they'd be more likely to be around in the evening.

The list of mob haunts Steve had gotten from the policeman included four different bars, clubs, or restaurants, all of them located in South Brooklyn, within walking distance of one another. Visiting them all in one night should be doable. More than that, they were close enough to Steve's Lower East Side apartment that he could do the whole excursion on foot.

It would've been simple to rush into these places as Captain America, grab some fishy-looking fellow by the shoulders, and shake him until he said something useful, but Steve would rather not go that route if he could avoid it. Instead, he decided to try a subtler approach. He swapped his costume for a regular suit and tie—something he rarely wore—and set out again. The first place on his list was a restaurant, and he hadn't eaten since breakfast. He might as well kill two birds with one stone.

As usual, it felt like a relief to step into the streets without his costume. All of a sudden, he was just a regular nobody. Sure, an ill-fitting suit wouldn't hide that Steve Rogers was a tall and broad-shouldered man, but even if a pair of eyes here and there lingered on him because of that, at least no one would stare at him unashamedly, let alone ask for his autograph. He might have grown used to those things, but it didn't mean he liked them.

A few stops on the subway and ten minutes of brisk walking brought him to his first target. It was easy to find: the name of the place, Lorenzo's, was written on the marquis in big red letters. It looked like a dozen other Italian restaurants Steve had visited, with nothing particularly dubious about it. Actually, the aroma of garlic that wafted to the street when someone exited was delicious, and reminded Steve of how hungry he was.

Steve had done plenty of covert operations during the war, often without the costume, with varying success. He'd never felt at home doing them. He didn't think he'd make a very good spy.

He stepped in, trying his best to look like he was just there looking for a bite to eat. It was dinner time, anyway.

It occurred to him that he hadn't considered all the angles when he'd sat down at a table. The waiter, a middle-aged Italian man who might well have been Lorenzo himself, dropped the menu in front of him and glared at him like he was something the cat dragged in.

This was an Italian place located in an Italian quarter; Steve was very obviously not Italian. Rather, he knew he had enough features to identify him as Irish. If this was a mafia hangout, it might've been a better approach to wear the costume after all.

"Day's specialties are on the board," the waiter said, waving a hand at the blackboard on the wall without taking his eyes off of Steve.

"Thanks," Steve said, doing his best to keep his expression neutral and non-confrontational. Better play the clueless outsider. "I think I know already. Can I have the minestrone and the ossobuco, please?"

The waiter's scowl lessened slightly. "Fine. Drinks?"

"I'll stick to water for now, thanks," Steve said, and handed back the menu.

"Your loss," the waiter said, and disappeared to the kitchen.

Steve sat back in his chair, taking in the room around him. The restaurant had ten tables of varying sizes, half of which were currently occupied. Judging by appearances, most of the customers were Italian, making Steve stick out like a sore thumb with his blond hair and pale skin. At a glance, none of the others caught his attention. He couldn't spot any weapons, neither overtly carried, nor obvious signs of hidden ones.

There were three doors in the room in addition to the front door and the one the waiter had walked through. Some of those would no doubt be restrooms, but probably not all. Maybe there was a back room for clandestine meetings behind one of them.

Steve got up to check the doors, and found that the one that didn't lead to a restroom was locked. He could've easily forced it open, but decided against that; he couldn't do it without drawing attention to himself, and for all he knew, it could've just as easily been a broom closet.

He returned to his table and spent his time listening in on the conversations around him. None of them sounded unusual in the least, neither the ones in English nor the ones in Italian, which he only understood partially. By the time his soup arrived, he was convinced this had been a dead end, but at least he got to have dinner, so it wasn't a complete waste of time.

In fact, the food was delicious, even if the service was rude. As he ate, he still kept a close eye on the room, watching every newcomer to see if any of them might head to that locked door, but none did. Try as he might, he didn't come up with a strategy for how to gain any useful information about Simon from here. Walking up to the table of any of the parties that were just minding their own business and having dinner would've brought too much attention to him. Going by how the waiter was treating him, he didn't expect to get any answers from him, either.

In the end, Steve decided to just pay his bill and leave, hoping that the next place on his agenda would prove more informative. If nothing else worked, he could always come back as Captain America later.

His second stop for the night was a place called the Groggy Cod. It was fifteen minutes' walk from Lorenzo's, and it couldn't have been more different. As the name implied, it was a pub of sorts. It almost seemed like a speakeasy that had yet to figure out that the prohibition had ended over a decade ago. It was in the basement, and the text announcing its name was only written on the door in small letters, with a tiny fish painted next to it. Even though there was no grille in the door, Steve half expected someone to ask him for a password, but it wasn't locked, and there was no bouncer behind it, either.

Steve walked down a few steps into a room with a low ceiling and dim lights. The music was loud enough to drown most conversations. If Lorenzo's had seemed like a perfectly ordinary restaurant, everything about this place screamed "gangsters" to him. That probably meant that any truly important interactions would take place elsewhere, but then again, all Steve wanted was to find someone who knew something about Simon, and for that, this seemed like a much better starting point.

The hour was fairly early for hanging out at a shady bar, and there were only around ten people in the room, in addition to the lone bartender. The crowd was varied enough that Steve didn't particularly stand out. Preferring to keep it that way, he first approached the bar. As he did, his eyes landed on the man sitting on one of the bar stools. The unexpected, very familiar-looking man.

Steve stopped in his tracks.

After he'd given up any hope of finding Tony today, Steve had come across him by accident, in the most unlikely place imaginable.

Tony was wearing coveralls, like a mechanic, and a flat cap that shaded his eyes. There was even a grease stain on one cheek to complete the picture. He definitely wouldn't have been able to enter any respectable establishment dressed as he was, but here, no one seemed to care. The disguise—which it clearly had to be, Steve thought—might've thrown off anyone who'd never seen Tony Stark up close, but there was no mistaking that it was him. Steve wouldn't fail to recognize those handsome features that'd made such an impression on him earlier.

A moment too late, Steve realized he'd been gaping at Tony for long enough that Tony had noticed, and was looking back at him curiously.

Steve walked over, trying to shake off his shock. Tony had only ever met him as Captain America, and would have no idea who he was. This could be a great opportunity to learn more about what was going on, but he'd have to tread carefully.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to stare. I thought you seemed familiar," Steve said. He hoped Tony wouldn't recognize his voice. He tended to speak differently in costume; it'd become a role that he fell into without even thinking about it, pronouncing everything more clearly, the pitch of his voice slightly lower than it'd naturally be.

Tony smiled back at him, not seeming overly bothered at Steve's attention. No doubt he was as used to fame as Steve was, especially since he didn't have a secret identity. "No problem, I get that a lot," he said. "You're thinking about that Stark fellow, aren't you?"

That took Steve by surprise, again. "Oh, maybe that's it. You look remarkably like him," he said quickly, trying to cover it. "I'm Steve." He held out his hand.

For a passing second, he considered if he might've been mistaken, and that this was, in fact, not Tony, but some unlikely lookalike, but he couldn't bring himself to believe that. He was certain he'd seen this very same face yesterday, covered in soot, in the middle of that burned ruin not too far from here. It was definitely, unmistakably Tony, down to the crinkles at the corners of his eyes when he smiled. His voice was exactly right, too. Steve couldn't believe any doppelganger could catch it that perfectly.

"Hi, Steve. I'm Ed," Tony said, unblinking, and shook Steve's hand. "I definitely haven't seen you before. I'm sure I'd remember it."

Tony was still smiling, and it was every bit as charming as it had been last time. Again, it looked and sounded a whole lot like he was trying to flirt with Steve. In fact, Steve would've been hard pressed to figure out how he could've been more flirty. In spite of his resolution to play this carefully, it put Steve's foot firmly in his mouth when he tried to reply.

"Yeah, no, I don't think we've met," he stammered.

"I'm being too forward, aren't I?" Tony said, his expression closing up. He leaned backwards ever so slightly, giving Steve more space. "Sorry about that. Don't mind me. It's just that there aren't a whole lot of people here who're up for friendly conversation," he nodded backwards over his shoulder, indicating the rest of the room.

There could be no mistaking his intentions. Steve had done this song and dance before. His earlier, hopeful hunch about Tony's preferences must've been correct. Tony had seen the way Steve had been looking at him, suspected Steve might be interested, and now he was testing the waters. If Steve didn't want to be flirted with, he'd turn Tony down. Which Steve probably should've done. He didn't.

"No, no, it's fine," he said instead, leaning towards Tony, one elbow on the counter. "You just keep taking me by surprise. Wasn't expecting to meet anyone as friendly as you here."

"That so?" Tony quirked an eyebrow, his lips turning to a grin again. "Well, Steve, how about I buy you a drink, then?"

"Sure, if you let me offer the next round," Steve said.

"Sounds good! So, what'll it be?" Tony asked.

"Just a beer for me, please," Steve replied.

Tony ordered two beers from the bartender, who was definitely more polite than the waiter at Lorenzo's had been, and pushed one of them towards Steve.

"Thanks," Steve said, wrapping his fingers around the cold glass, trying to draw some semblance of calm from it. This encounter was so completely unexpected that it was throwing him for a loop.

He hadn't come here looking for Tony, let alone looking to hook up with him. In fact, hooking up with him was about the worst thing Steve could do, considering that Tony was clearly involved in the case, one way or the other. The fact that Tony was in this bar made him seem even more suspect than before. Could he have mafia contacts? It wasn't entirely impossible. Steve didn't actually know much about Tony's background, beyond the fact that his parents had been rich. Then again, considering his heroic record when it came to the war, it was difficult to imagine he'd befriend criminals.

Not that Steve was currently being a beacon of morality, himself. He should back off and push Tony away. Whichever way he considered the situation, it was all wrong. If he told himself he was doing this just because he was fascinated by Tony and wanted to learn more about him, he was being unprofessional. If he claimed it was to gain information from Tony because of the case, well, that was a seriously unethical way to conduct the investigation.

He'd just sit here for a moment, see if he could learn anything new, and walk away before it could turn into anything more than casual flirting, he decided. That wouldn't be too bad. He could still live with himself after that.

"So, you come here often, Ed?" he asked. Sure, it was horribly cliched, but it was a useful conversation starter.

Tony finished off the glass of whatever he'd been drinking before the beer, and then answered, "Oh, not really. Sometimes. Not my usual kind of place."

"Not mine, either," Steve admitted. "What brings you here tonight, then, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Looking for someone," Tony said. His casual, amicable expression gave nothing away. He might've just meant that he was looking for company, for all Steve knew.

"Funny, that. So am I. Do you happen to know someone named Simon? He's supposed to be a regular here," Steve tried.

Tony shook his head. "Doesn't ring a bell, sorry."

Steve considered bringing up Maya's name as well, but that would link him to the fires and the events around Tony, and might make him suspicious. Better not. "You find who you're looking for yet?" he asked instead.

"Possibly," Tony said, still keeping it vague.

"Is it me?" Steve suggested playfully.

Tony laughed, the delighted look he gave Steve enough to make him blush. "Unfortunately, no, it's not. I'm glad I found you, though—you've already made the evening a lot more memorable."

Steve didn't miss that Tony had danced around the matter of who he was actually looking for. He wasn't going to leave it at that. "So, this mysterious person you're after…"

"Nothing mysterious about him, just boring," Tony said dismissively. "It's about a gig. Give you three guesses at what I do for a living," he joked, spreading his arms to show off his coveralls. On closer inspection, Steve noticed that the fabric looked like something other than the matte cotton you'd usually see; there was a faint shimmer to it. He didn't suppose Tony would expect him to pay attention to that, though.

"You fix things?" Steve offered.

"Got that in one," Tony said. "I'm also quite good at breaking them, if necessary."

"Not hearts, I hope," Steve joked. If someone had asked him, he couldn't have said if he was flirting in earnest, or just playing a part. Then again, he wasn't sure there was much of a difference between the two. Wasn't flirting always a kind of an act?

Tony had raised his glass to his lips to take a drink, and at Steve's words, he let out a sound that was half chuckle, half snort. For a few seconds, it seemed worryingly like he might end up choking on his beer, but then he recovered and shook his head at Steve. "You're really something, aren't you? I try not to, if I can avoid it. I'm sure you must've shattered a few in your time, though."

"Not really," Steve said. It was true, too; during the war, he'd hardly had time for relationships, not to mention the challenges of maintaining his secret identity. Since the end of it, he'd had nothing beyond brief and often anonymous encounters with no emotional attachment.

"Well, huh. You must be as wholesome as you look, then," Tony said, with a wink. "So, this Simon you're searching for, is he a friend of yours?"

"A friend of a friend," Steve lied. "It's work-related, too."

Tony raised his eyebrows. "Oh? What kind of work dealings would a nice, handsome guy like you have in a place like this?"

Steve hadn't actually thought that through; he didn't have a proper cover story worked out, like Tony seemed to. "Want to guess?" he deflected.

"That's a lot more difficult than it was for you," Tony said, eyeing Steve's generic clothing. "Hired muscle? You don't seem the type, but you've certainly got the biceps."

"It's not a very fair guessing game," Steve agreed. "Especially since there isn't a right answer. Sure, I've been hired muscle, but also a bunch of other things. Courier. Handyman. Odd jobs."

"No actual day job, then?" Tony asked, frowning.

Steve could tell Tony wasn't really buying it, and the truth was, he probably wouldn't have bought it himself. Still, he decided to stick to the cover he'd picked, as unconvincing as it was. "Not at the moment, no. You've got one, I suppose? At some auto shop?"

"Yeah, I run one of my own."

Steve was going to try and ask more about Tony's work, just in case he'd end up getting some garbled version of recent events, when they were interrupted by a short, rat-faced man in a suit that fit better than Steve's. He stopped next to Tony and placed a skinny hand on Tony's shoulder.

"I talked to the boss. He'd like a word with you. Come with me," the man said. The words were inconspicuous, but the way he said them almost sounded like a veiled threat, not giving Tony room to decline.

"Sure. Of course," Tony said, and stood up. "Sorry, Steve. Business calls. Keep my seat warm for me," he patted at the chair he'd just vacated, "and I'll see you later."

"I'll look forward to that," Steve said.

He watched the man lead Tony not to the front door, but to a door at the back, and out of the room. No one else seemed to be paying any attention to them.

Steve waited for a minute before following the two men. The door they'd walked through opened into a corridor with several more doors in it. He couldn't tell which one the two had picked, so he tried each of them. First, again, he found restrooms, then a cleaning closet, and a locked door that he forced open, only to reveal a storage room full of crates and barrels of beer.

Finally, he opened the door at the very end of the corridor, to find out that it led to an alleyway behind the building. He could hear the sound of a car's tires skidding as it drove away.

He'd been too slow. He didn't think he'd see Tony again tonight. He could only hope Tony wasn't in too much trouble.


	6. Chapter 5

* * *

With Tony gone, Steve returned to what he'd originally meant to do: he tried to ask around and find out what he could about the mobster who'd been caught in the fire at Maya Hansen's apartment. Even though the circumstances were more favorable at the bar than they'd been at Lorenzo's, the end result wasn't much better. He did meet a few people who admitted that they knew Simon, but when Steve couldn't specify why he was asking, they fell quiet. Neither bribery nor attempts at elaborate backstories got him anywhere.

He kept glancing at the front and back doors in turn, hoping against hope that Tony might step into the room. He didn't. Steve couldn't help but feel a little concerned. For all he knew, Tony could be in a world of trouble right now. Then again, he'd left willingly. He might've just as well gone to meet with accomplices. Steve couldn't keep thinking the best of Tony just because he was charming and seemed to enjoy Steve's company.

There were two more places on the list Steve had gotten from the policemen. He'd been planning on visiting those tonight as well, but he ended up lingering at the Groggy Cod for longer than he'd intended to, in case Tony should return. Eventually, past eleven, after several drinks and all too many useless conversations, he finally decided to let it go for the day, and headed home.

As was his habit, he checked his answering machine—the special device the military had supplied him with that was connected to his separate Captain America phone line—first thing when he got to his apartment. He was surprised to find he'd been left a message by Tony's friend Pepper Potts.

"Captain, I hope you don't mind me calling you. I got your number from the card you left when you visited Tony's house. I know he hasn't contacted you, and I don't think he will. He didn't want me to, either, but honestly, I'm starting to get concerned, and I'd like to talk to you. If you have time tomorrow, I'd be happy to meet. Before one o'clock would be best for me."

The call instantly brought back Steve's earlier worries. If Pepper was concerned as well, it seemed more likely that his fears hadn't been misplaced. He chastised himself for not going after Tony at the bar right away, so that he might've at least gotten the registration of that car.

When he lay down in bed and closed his eyes, his thoughts kept going back to the evening's events, and it took him much longer than usual to fall asleep. 

In the morning, he woke up from a deeply inappropriate dream in which Tony had returned to the bar later. He'd led Steve to the corridor at the back, where one of the doors had opened into his bedroom. It'd been just as luxurious as Jan's suite at the Waldorf Astoria, with velvet curtains and silk sheets that'd felt very smooth against Steve's skin when he'd settled down on the bed. Tony had unzipped his coveralls, revealing he wore nothing at all under them, and had eagerly started to undress Steve—

Steve opened his eyes, clambered out of bed, hurried into the shower, and spent quite a while there, trying to flush the memory down the drain. This was completely unprofessional. He shouldn't be thinking about Tony like this.

As much as he couldn't control what his subconscious got up to, he still felt vaguely guilty when he picked up the phone to call Pepper back and set up a meeting.

Less than an hour later, he was sitting in the living room of her stylish apartment near Madison Square, drinking coffee. Luckily, his curiosity over what she might have to say was enough to hold back the lingering memory of his dreams.

"So, you've been looking into these fires," Pepper began, studying him over the rim of her cup.

"For around a week now," Steve confirmed.

"And you think Tony's got something to do with them?" she went on.

"That's one of the questions I wanted to ask you," Steve said. "So far, there have been three fires. He's the only person I know of who's definitely been present at two of them, and I have reason to suspect he's connected to the latest one as well. That's not solid evidence of anything, but it seems unlikely to be a coincidence."

Pepper nodded. "It does, indeed. I wish I knew what was going on. I don't like this. It's hardly the first time Tony's been in trouble, but right now, I'm not sure what to think."

"What makes this time different? If there's anything you can tell me, that'd be very helpful." Steve leaned towards her, looking into her eyes, his coffee forgotten for the moment. 

"It's just, ever since we got back from the Yucatán, he's not been quite himself. He's been absent and distracted, like something's bothering him." Pepper was speaking slowly, seeming to consider each word carefully. Steve figured that might be either because she hadn't talked about this with anyone, or—the less charitable explanation—because she didn't want to give away too much.

Steve really hated how this investigation was forcing him to suspect everyone he met and everything he heard, even when the people he talked to were upstanding citizens who seemed nothing but friendly.

"Can you tell me more about the expedition? Miss van Dyne mentioned it, but she didn't know any details. Anything out of the usual about it?"

Pepper took a moment before she answered, glancing at her coffee, her expression distant. "Yes and no. See, we're used to these kinds of trips having unexpected twists and turns, and dangers lurking behind every corner. In that sense, this was perfectly ordinary. We went looking for a temple based on some recent research, and met some challenges. A competing team, booby traps, the usual, really, but this time, it got very bad. The ruins collapsed. Tony was stuck in the middle of it, separated from the rest of us. We feared we might've lost him, for a while there, but in the end, he made it out in one piece."

"So, he was in an accident, and he's been behaving differently after that?" Steve checked.

"Yes, you could describe it like that," Pepper said. "And now he's gone into hiding."

"He has?" That was unexpected. Would it have been before or after Steve had met Tony last night? He couldn't very well mention the encounter to her without risking his secret identity, so he asked, "How can you be sure he's not been, say, kidnapped?"

"He told me himself, yesterday afternoon. That's one of the reasons I decided to call you," Pepper explained. "He seemed kind of anxious, but he kept it all vague, just said that he had some things to deal with and that he'd be lying low for a few days. I don't have any idea what those things might be, but I'd bet it's all related to the fires."

Tony lying low certainly fit with where he'd been last night: in a shady pub, wearing a disguise. It also made it sound like what Steve had witnessed hadn't been a kidnapping, and that Tony had met with those gangsters willingly, to work on whatever he was trying to sort out.

"I'm going to have to ask," Steve began, in his most official and controlled voice, "do you think there's any chance that Tony might somehow be causing the fires?"

"No," Pepper said right away, then stopped, frowning, her fingers clenching around her cup. "I don't know what's going on with him, but I can't imagine how he could be. I saw the damage at Jan's house. She's his friend. He wouldn't do that to her. And that fire yesterday, I heard someone died?"

"Yes, and another man ended up in the hospital," Steve said.

Pepper shook her head. "Tony wouldn't be a part of something like that. Not even if he were up to his neck in trouble. I know him well, and he's a good man, Captain. He'd never harm anyone without very good reason, and I can't imagine anything that could compel him to burn someone alive. No. He can't be behind that. Unless—" She fell silent again, pursing her lips, her expression turning from thoughtful to openly distressed.

"Take your time," Steve said, and placed a soothing hand on her forearm.

"I hadn't really seriously considered this, but—he was missing for some time, and we don't really know what happened during that period. If someone did something to him, if he's no longer himself but under someone else's control—" she trailed off, like the thought was too appalling to finish. Steve could feel her arm trembling. "Something like that happened to his father. They turned him into someone else. Someone evil."

"Who did?" Steve asked.

"Hydra," Pepper answered. "That was years ago, of course, but—"

Steve was all too familiar with those villains, but so far, he hadn't seen anything to suggest they might be playing a part here. "Do you have any particular reason to suspect Hydra involvement in the current events?"

Pepper seemed to relax a little as she considered that. "Not really. Not that I can think of."

Steve pulled back his hand and straightened up in his chair. The idea of Hydra brainwashing was disturbing, but it wouldn't concretely help him with the investigation. "I'm going to keep that option in mind, but the thing is, if something like that is at play, then I doubt anyone can anticipate what Tony will do next," he thought aloud. "Now, if we were to assume, instead, that he's in control of his own actions and not responsible for the fires, what would you think he's up to?"

Pepper took a gulp of her coffee, the anxious look still lingering on her face when she answered, "If he's not responsible for them, then there's a good chance he's the target, and I'd bet he's trying to figure out who's after him and why."

"If that's the case, I wish he'd choose to cooperate with me instead of hiding," Steve said, unable to hide his exasperation.

"So do I. As I said, he's not usually like this. He's got friends he knows he can trust. The only reason I can think of why he'd keep things from us is that he wants to protect us from whatever's going on."

The way Pepper was speaking about Tony was in line with everything Steve had heard from Tony's other friends, and with Tony's reputation. If it turned out to be the truth, then there was a good chance something bad had happened to him last night after he left the bar, which made it all the more crucial for Steve to try and track him down, and fast.

"Whatever's going on, I promise I'll do my best to find him. I'll let you know when I do," he told Pepper firmly.

"Thank you, Captain. I appreciate that," she said, her lips turning into a slight smile. "Is there anything else I can help you with?"

Now that she asked, Steve had to stop and mentally go through the list of what he'd been working on before he'd met Tony last night; he'd almost forgotten about all the other leads he'd been following. "A few more things, actually. Do you know a Maya Hansen? She might've had something to do with the expedition."

Pepper raised her eyebrows in surprise. "She did. She was in the rival team I mentioned. How do you know her name?"

"It was her apartment that burned yesterday," Steve said.

"Oh? Oh, dear. I didn't know that," Pepper said, clearly shocked by this news. "It really looks like it all revolves around Tony and the expedition, doesn't it? That can't be a coincidence."

"I don't think it is, no," Steve agreed. "Do you know her well? Have you seen her recently?"

"I don't, and I haven't. I think Tony knew her beforehand, but that obviously isn't very helpful when he's not around," Pepper said. "I'd suggest you contact the university and ask for her number, but since her apartment just burned down, that won't do you much good, either."

Steve blew out a frustrated breath. "Anything at all you can tell me about her?"

"Well, I can tell you that the team she was working with was odd," Pepper said. "It was her and another academic, a Dr. Killian, and a whole lot of assistants who resembled common thugs more than university researchers."

"Well, well," Steve muttered. That could be another connection, and one he hadn't expected at all. "Do you know if there was anyone called Simon among those thugs?"

"No idea. We weren't on particularly friendly terms with them."

"Were they American? This could be important," Steve pressed on.

Pepper made an apologetic face. "I'm not sure. I didn't actually talk to any of them. I think they were. They definitely didn't look like locals. Why is it important?"

"The victims of the fire at Miss Hansen's house also fit the description of common thugs," Steve said. He had no reason not to tell Pepper the details; by now, he was convinced she wasn't involved in the fires herself. "I've been trying to find out more about them, but so far, I don't have much."

"Unfortunately, I can't tell you anything about them, either," Pepper said.

"That's all right. You've already been more helpful than anyone else I've talked to so far." Steve gave her a thankful smile, and finished the lukewarm coffee in his cup. "One last question: where would you expect Tony to go, when he said he's going to lie low? Does he have any regular hideouts?"

"The company owns plenty of buildings, and normally, I'd think he'd just hide in one of the labs, but I don't think he's doing that now. Not when he doesn't want to involve anyone else," Pepper said thoughtfully. "He might just be staying in a hotel, somewhere convenient."

"Right, that makes sense," Steve said with a nod. He then got up from the couch. Time to move on; he had several other places to visit today. "Thank you very much for contacting me, Miss Potts. If you can think of anything else, don't hesitate to call me again."

"I'll do that," Pepper said. "And I wish you the best of luck with the investigation."

What Steve wanted to do next was to rush back to the Groggy Cod, in costume, and interrogate people until he finally got some information about last night, but he knew that'd probably be pointless right now. It wasn't even lunchtime yet, and the bar wouldn't be open. At best, if he was lucky, he might catch some of the staff.

He was going to do the rational thing and wait until the afternoon before going back to Brooklyn. For now, he drove over to the police headquarters. If there had been any fires during the evening or night, Bucky should've found out by now.

"I've got good news and bad news," Bucky told Steve when he reached the temporary office. Although the room seemed peaceful, with the police radio currently quiet and an open book on the table in front of Bucky, he looked much more serious than yesterday.

Steve grimaced, not liking the sound of those words. "Start with the bad. Better get that over with."

Bucky closed his book and sat up straight in his chair. "Okay. So. That survivor from yesterday's fire? He's gone."

"I thought he wasn't too badly injured," Steve said, baffled.

"Sorry, I didn't mean dead-gone, he's just, vanished. Disappeared. No longer there," Bucky clarified, spreading his arms.

"I thought he was under guard," Steve said.

"He was," Bucky said. "From what I heard, someone tricked the guard and smuggled him out."

"Damn it," Steve swore, slamming his hand on the desk, making Bucky's book jump an inch. He'd been hoping he could talk to Simon today, and perhaps get another perspective on that unlucky expedition. "What about the good news?"

"More neutral than good, I guess, but there haven't been any strange fires since the one you went to see yesterday," Bucky offered.

"I'd call that good," Steve said. At least that ruled out one type of trouble Tony could've been in. He'd feared there might've been another warehouse fire.

"What about your news? Did you find out anything last night? Meet any mobsters?" Bucky asked curiously.

"I met Tony Stark," Steve confessed.

Bucky's eyes widened a little. "Oh, you found him? That's great!"

"Found him, and lost him again, right away," Steve had to admit. "I also didn't learn anything new about Simon. Not the most successful evening, all in all. I'll go back tonight and try a different approach."

"Stark seems like a slippery fellow," Bucky said, "but I'm sure you'll catch him sooner or later."

"Hopefully sooner. For now, I'm going to look into Maya Hansen and her academic friends," Steve decided.

Steve wasn't particularly familiar with the New York University campus, and it took him some asking around to even figure out where to start. Fortunately, the people he asked were always happy to help Captain America. Eventually, he found his way to an office in the massive main building overlooking Washington Square Park, where a lady behind a desk was able to inform him of the particular location of Dr. Hansen's office. She was quite emphatic with the title, which Steve hadn't caught earlier.

The office was in yet another university building, and unsurprisingly, Maya wasn't there, as Steve heard from a colleague of hers that he ran into in the otherwise quiet corridor. The man looked like the stereotypical scholar to Steve, with his glasses, graying hair, and well-worn woolen sweater vest. "Dr. Harris," he introduced himself. "A big admirer of yours, Captain, by the way. Maya hasn't been around very much recently. Last I talked to her must've been, hm, four days ago?"

That was disappointing, but also not particularly surprising, considering her apartment had just burned down. "Is it typical for her to be so scarce?"

"Um, no, but she did say she'd be taking some time off. She has a lot to deal with," Dr. Harris said, lowering his voice meaningfully. Steve's first intuition was that he was referring to the fire, but right away, he realized the timeline didn't fit. That had only been yesterday. If Dr. Harris hadn't talked to her since four days ago, he must mean something else.

"How so?" Steve asked.

"Hm, right, of course you wouldn't know," Dr. Harris said, rubbing at his cheek. "See, we lost a colleague recently. Al Killian. Maya was on the same expedition, and I think she feels responsible. Really, if you ask me, the whole thing sounds like something out of a pulp. Went to explore ancient ruins, died in collapsed temple. It's hard to believe that he's gone."

Pepper had mentioned Dr. Killian as a member of the competing party, but she hadn't talked about any casualties. Maybe she hadn't known. Still, Steve was willing to bet that collapsed temple would be the same one Tony had been stuck in.

"Do you know anything more about what happened, anything at all?" Steve prompted.

"Maya hasn't wanted to talk about it. Understandably. It must've been awful. So, what I already said is pretty much all I heard," Dr. Harris said. "There's one other strange thing I should mention, though, which is how the whole thing got funded. There wasn't a penny of grant money spent on it. They had external backing. From some rather unsavory types, I might say."

"Unsavory, as in, possibly criminal? Connected to the mob?" Steve suggested. He'd been expecting something like that, based on what Pepper had said.

"Maybe? I don't—they only came here once, and Maya and Al didn't seem too happy about that." Dr. Harris glanced around as if worried someone might overhear him gossiping about his colleagues.

Even though this amounted to little more than rumors, it made so much sense, Steve didn't doubt its truthfulness. It explained why those two thugs had been at Maya's apartment. Finally, Steve could at least come up with some kind of an overarching theory: perhaps the mobsters who'd funded the expedition were angry at Maya and Tony because it had failed, and were trying to retaliate. It didn't quite sit right, though. Steve couldn't see why a criminal organization would want to support an archaeological expedition in the first place, and more importantly, if that was the whole explanation, what was going on with the fires? As a means of punishment, recruiting some mysterious burning man to hunt down the offenders seemed inefficient and pointlessly showy.

Steve finished his visit to the university by taking a look at Maya's office. Although that told him a lot about her—for example, that she was very neat and organized, and seemed to work specifically on translating ancient languages—he didn't learn anything more to further the investigation. 

Unfortunately, Dr. Harris didn't know where Maya was currently staying; he hadn't even heard about the fire at her apartment before Steve mentioned it. So, out of the people who might really know what was going on, Dr. Killian was dead, and Maya, Tony and Simon were all missing.

Steve was starting to wonder if this case was exceptionally tricky, or if he was just very bad at this detective business.


	7. Chapter 6

* * *

After his visit to the university, Steve spent a few hours looking into Simon's disappearance from the hospital. The impression he got was that it had been well orchestrated, most likely with either hospital staff or even police officers in on it. Smuggling Simon out wouldn't have been particularly difficult, since he had been fit enough to walk. Steve wasn't able to figure out who, exactly, had taken him, let alone where they'd gone.

When he finally walked through the inconspicuous door and down the few steps into the Groggy Cod, still in costume, his combined concern for Tony and frustration for his slow progress had reached a level where he was almost hoping for a fight. Unlike last time, he had no need to avoid attention. On the contrary, he let the door slam shut loud enough that most eyes in the room were on him when his boots hit the floor.

Steve didn't miss it when two men at the back started moving towards the door at the far end of the room that'd give them a way out. He rushed towards it, and caught up with them in the corridor beyond.

The first of the two men was just reaching for the handle of the door leading to the alley, the second one close behind him. Steve pushed aside the second man, slamming him into the wall, and managed to grab the first one by the jacket before he could open the door. The second man recovered quickly and started to raise a pistol, but Steve used his free hand to knock it aside so fast that the man dropped it, his eyes going comically wide in shock. When he tried to retreat instead, Steve hooked a foot around his ankle, making him stumble. The first man, whose jacket Steve was still holding, was attempting to wriggle away. Steve yanked on it forcefully and ducked next to the second man, bringing them both down with him.

Less a minute since the scuffle had begun, he had both men pinned on the floor, and he was barely out of breath himself.

It wasn't quite enough to get rid of all that pent-up frustration.

Steve glanced at the door leading to the bar and listened for a moment, but all he could hear was muffled music. No sign of anyone showing up to disturb them. He guessed brawls like this weren't uncommon at this fine establishment, and the owners were used to turning a blind eye.

Finally getting a proper look at the thugs he'd caught, he recognized one of them as the same rat-faced man who'd walked away with Tony last night. That was good. It had crossed Steve's mind that they might've tried to run away simply because they were common criminals and had been spooked by the sight of Captain America. Although the second man, who was bigger and had several pronounced scars crossing his face, wasn't familiar to Steve, there was a good chance he might know something as well, if he was in league with the first man.

"I'm not looking for a fight," Steve told the two. Strictly speaking, that was true, even if he would've welcomed more action. "I just want some answers. If I let go, are you going to behave yourselves?"

Both men nodded, so Steve loosened his hold and leaned backwards, allowing them to get up. The scar-faced man instantly made a grab for his pistol, which was lying on the floor only a few feet away. Before he got there, Steve caught hold of his collar, yanked him around, and punched him in the face hard enough to knock him out. He landed heavily on the floor, his nose almost touching the gun, which Steve picked up for safekeeping. The thug wouldn't be talking for a moment, but at least he wouldn't be trying to escape, either.

The other man hadn't moved at all from where he was standing. It seemed like he was more cautious than his friend. Steve knew looks could deceive, but he definitely gave the impression that he'd prefer talking to fighting: he had his hands in his pockets, his shoulders slumped in submission, and was glaring at Steve sullenly.

"You can't prove I've done anything wrong," the man said.

"I'm not here to arrest you." Steve kept his voice steady and non-threatening. Those words were true, as well. The time to think about repercussions would be later, when he actually understood what was going on. "Like I said, I just want answers. For starters, where's Tony Stark?"

The man grimaced and spat to one side. "No clue. The further from here, the better."

"Try again," Steve said, and grabbed hold of his shirt front to press him against the wall. "You must know something. He was here last night, and he left with you."

"Maybe he was," the man admitted, "but that's none of your business. He wanted a word with the boss, I arranged that for him. If I'd known how that'd go, I would've thought twice about it."

Steve wasn't sure if he could trust a word this man was saying, but it did match what he had witnessed: Tony had gone without resisting. The unexpected part was the man's resentment of Tony.

"Why did Stark want to talk to your boss?" Steve asked.

"None of your business," the man repeated.

"I've made it my business. Don't try my nerves. I haven't had a particularly good day today." Steve tightened his hold and lifted the man a few inches off the ground. Not that he'd actually resort to violence as an interrogation tool, but the solid threat of it could be equally effective.

"Oh, _you_ haven't?" the man growled back at Steve. He didn't seem intimidated. Instead, he looked like Steve's words had pushed him over some edge, anger flaring in his eyes. He pulled his right hand out of his pocket. Steve let go of him, getting ready to knock out whatever weapon he'd produce, but there wasn't one; he simply raised the hand in front of him, showing that it was covered in bandages, like a thick white mitten. "Burns. Courtesy of your buddy Stark. Talking about nerves, don't know if all the feeling will ever come back properly."

"What happened?" Steve asked, taken aback.

"That damn artifact that he's got, that's what happened! He shouldn't have it in the first place. It doesn't belong to him. The boss paid good money for it," the man explained, gesturing irately with his uninjured left hand as he spoke. "He said he wanted to talk, but then he didn't want to negotiate. The bastard. I hope he burns himself to a crisp."

Steve gaped at him, trying to make sense of the story. If there'd been another fire last night, the FDNY hadn't been contacted about it, but then, that didn't mean it wasn't true. If the mob was involved, maybe they'd wanted to keep it under wraps.

"So, you're saying Stark has an artifact that can set things on fire? What is it?" he asked.

"Hell if I know what it is, I haven't seen it. Something small, some kind of amulet, maybe. I've just got first-hand proof of what it can do." The man raised his bandaged hand again. "I'd be happier if I never heard mention of the damn thing again."

"Where is Stark now?" Steve demanded.

"I told you, I haven't got the slightest. He left the room in flames and ran away like the coward he is," the man answered, and spat again. "I'm telling you, Stark's really pissed off the boss. He's gonna get what's coming to him, sooner or later. No matter what magic tricks he knows."

If this man was telling the truth—and going by how genuinely angry he seemed, Steve was thinking he was—then Tony was causing the fires, after all. By the sound of it, Steve had been half right earlier. The expedition was behind all this, but it hadn't been a failure. Tony had found what they'd been looking for. The criminals who'd funded Maya's team had wanted the same thing, but Tony had gotten to it first, and was refusing to give it to them.

Steve could see why Tony wouldn't want something so dangerous ending up in criminal hands, but he was surprised, and disappointed, that Tony would choose to use the artifact against his enemies in such a destructive way. And yet, he couldn't help wanting to give Tony the benefit of the doubt: maybe he'd had no choice. Maybe he'd only done those things when he'd been hopelessly cornered. Steve couldn't be sure until he heard Tony's side of the events.

The other thug woke up a moment later, and Steve questioned him as well, but all he got was a reluctant confirmation of the first one's description of the events. Neither of them had any clue as to where Tony might currently be, and they refused to tell him who they worked for. Despite his earlier promise not to, Steve considered dragging them to the police precinct for safekeeping, but the truth was, he didn't have anything on them, so he decided to let them go.

He exited through the back door and walked around the block to his bike, feeling no less frustrated than before. His mind was buzzing, running over what he'd heard, trying to figure out what to do next. He started driving homewards, but when his eyes landed on the weather-beaten sign of a small hotel, just a few blocks from the bar, he pulled over to the side.

He still needed to find Tony. Pepper had said Tony would probably be staying somewhere in the city. There was a chance that he'd fled, after yesterday's altercation with the mob, but if he hadn't, maybe Steve could find him through some regular detective work.

The so-called hotel rather resembled some godforsaken highway motel. The lobby looked like it hadn't been cleaned in ages, if ever, and consisted of one stretch of corridor, the reception counter, and stairs leading up. The bored-looking young lady sitting behind the counter turned a faint shade of pink when she set eyes on Steve.

"Good evening," Steve greeted her, offering her a smile. Purposeful manipulation wasn't something he liked doing, but if a few friendly words made it easier to get the information he needed, he wasn't past using that to his advantage.

"Oh my God! Captain—do I call you that? Is it really you? What can I do for you?" the receptionist stammered, trying to simultaneously tuck some stray hairs behind her ear with one hand and push the papers in front of her into a more organized pile with the other.

"Captain is fine, or Cap, if you prefer that," Steve said, still smiling, and leaned a little closer to her, one hand on the counter. "I'm looking for someone, actually. A man who goes by Ed, or maybe Edward, and might be wearing coveralls. Dark hair, blue eyes, with a beard and a moustache."

The receptionist chewed her lip and shook her head. "Sorry, I don't think I've seen anyone like that. It's been pretty quiet recently, anyway."

Steve wasn't too surprised; he hadn't expected to find Tony in a place that he walked into on a whim. "That's all right. I'm not sure where he's staying, just that he should be in the area. You wouldn't happen to have any idea of what other hotels are nearby?"

"Of course I do, Cap! Give me a few minutes, I'll get you a list," she promised, her expression lighting up.

"That's very kind of you, Miss. I realize this is a lot to ask, but is there, by any chance, a phone here that I could borrow for a moment? Would save me the trouble of driving around and visiting all those places," Steve tried, his smile firmly in place.

Unsurprisingly, the receptionist instantly offered him the use of the tiny office in the room behind her counter, allowing him to call through the list she'd provided him. He knew this was a long shot, but if today's work had told him anything, it was that his chances of finding anyone who knew Tony's location were slim at best, since neither his friends nor his enemies had any clue.

He could barely believe his ears when the third call he made turned out to be a success.

"Yeah, I think we've got someone who fits that description," the receptionist said, his bored voice very different from the eager and friendly young lady at Steve's current location. "Want me to connect you to his room?"

"Yes, I'd appreciate that very much," Steve said.

"Just a moment."

The line went quiet, and Steve waited with bated breath. This almost felt too easy and too good to be true—so, of course, it got more complicated right away.

When the phone was picked up again, it wasn't Tony's voice at the other end, but still the receptionist. "So, I asked him, but he didn't want to take the call."

Steve's heart sank. He hadn't considered that option. Of course, he should've. It had seemed like Tony had been avoiding him since that moment they'd first met in the burned wreckage two days ago. He wasn't entirely sure why; he supposed it had to do with Tony being responsible for the fires, feeling guilty, and maybe wanting to somehow fix the mess he'd gotten into on his own.

"What, exactly, did you tell him?" Steve asked.

"Just that I've got Captain America on the line for him."

"All right. Thank you, anyway."

As disappointing as that was, it had also been one of his greatest successes so far. Steve now knew exactly where Tony was, and the place was less than ten minutes away. Unless Tony would take the phone call as his cue to run away and hide somewhere else, there was a very good chance Steve could catch him.

He could hurry over, rush to Tony's room, and grab him as if he were apprehending a fugitive. He just didn't really want to do that. He had reasons to suspect Tony was the arsonist he was looking for, but he was mainly basing that on the stories of a couple of thugs. He lacked solid evidence. Without that, he'd prefer not to make this official. He wanted to be sure he had his facts straight.

He doubted Tony would be willing to talk to him if he tried to approach him in costume, whether to detain him, or just to have a friendly chat. Clearly, Tony wasn't currently too fond of Captain America's attention.

Tony had seemed quite fond of Steve Rogers the other night, though.

Since anyone showing up at Tony's hotel too soon after the phone call from Captain America might make him suspect foul play, Steve decided to risk giving it some time. Instead of taking the fastest route to Tony's known location, he drove home over the Brooklyn Bridge.

He changed out of his costume and into the same suit he'd worn when he'd last met Tony. When he combed his hair and checked it in the mirror, he told himself it was mainly to make sure it wouldn't look flattened after having been under his cowl all day. He wouldn't want that to give him away.

The place Tony was staying at was called Sleepy Eyes Inn, and the most flattering thing Steve could say about it was that it had better facilities than the first hotel he'd visited tonight, in the sense that it had a bar. It certainly wasn't much cleaner; the floor of said bar, which doubled as the reception, was sticky under his shoes. Overall, the place felt only slightly less shady than the Groggy Cod, with lighter-colored decor, brighter lights and softer music.

Just like when he'd walked into the Cod, Steve spotted Tony at the first glance.

Tony was sitting at a table in the far corner, still wearing his coveralls and flat cap. There were two glasses in front of him, one of them empty, the other with amber liquid—whiskey of some sort, probably—still left at the bottom. He clearly wasn't too drunk to stop paying attention to the room around him, since his eyes met Steve's right away, his eyebrows going up and his lips turning to one of those radiant smiles.

Steve didn't go to him right away, but walked to the bar first. He ordered two beers and carried them over to Tony's table.

He wasn't at all sure how he was going to make it through the conversation in such a way that he could keep things professional, but still convince Tony to trust him and talk to him honestly. He'd just have to play this by the ear, and hope for the best.

"Evening, Ed. I think I owe you one," he said, placing a glass in front of Tony, then pulling up a chair for himself.

"Steve! I'd rather say I owe you another, for standing you up last night," Tony said regretfully. "I had every intention to come back later, but there was a kind of an emergency, and I couldn't."

"Eh, that's okay, your meeting seemed important. I hope that emergency wasn't anything too serious?" Steve asked.

He kept a very close eye on Tony while waiting for his answer, to see how he'd react. Tony did, in fact, grow more sober, his smile vanishing. "It was unpleasant, but I dealt with it. I'd rather not talk about it."

"Fair enough," Steve said casually, as if that wasn't exactly the thing he most wanted to talk about.

"What I would like to know," Tony went on, his eyes fixed on Steve's, "is how I'm so lucky as to run into you for the second night in a row!"

Steve already had a backstory in mind, one that wasn't even too far from the truth. He looked away sheepishly when he answered. "Well, it's only one part luck, and a few parts hard work. I really wanted to see you again. I may have gone to the Groggy Cod, and then visited a few other places tonight, hoping you'd be in one of them."

"Huh. I seem to be popular today. You're the second person who's been looking for me," Tony noted. "And I think there might be a few more out there."

Steve felt a slight pang of guilt—no doubt, Tony was referring to Cap. If only he knew those two were one and the same. He took a gulp of beer, just to have a moment to push back that guilt and go for a flirty look that wasn't quite genuine. "Should I worry about having competition?"

"Oh, no. Those other people definitely wouldn't be buying me beers," Tony said, also going for his drink. When he put the glass down, he licked his lips to clear off some foam, slowly. Too slowly for it not to be a deliberate show, so Steve didn't try to hide that he noticed it, his eyes lingering on Tony's mouth.

He wondered how it'd feel to kiss those lips. He wondered if Tony would let him do that.

He really shouldn't be thinking like this.

"Is that related to last night? You're not in trouble, are you?" Steve asked, to keep the conversation on topic.

Tony grimaced. "I might be. Didn't I say I didn't want to talk about it?"

"Sure, and that's fine. I was just thinking, if it's like that, is it safe for you to be sitting here like this, in plain view?" This was something Steve had been wondering about; he hadn't been expecting to find Tony in the first room he walked into.

"Probably not," Tony said, still looking uncomfortable. "If I hadn't been, I wouldn't have met you, though."

"For which I'm grateful," Steve said, with a warm smile.

"Completely worth the risk," Tony added. He shifted closer to Steve and pressed his shin lightly against Steve's under the table.

That light touch was enough to bring up butterflies in Steve's stomach. He imagined he could feel the warmth of Tony's skin through the fabric, though that was probably all in his head. He probably should've moved away, but on the other hand, he was really making progress here. He was connecting with Tony. If he backed off now, it would be all over, and he'd have to think of some other way to reach him.

He placed his hand on Tony's knee.

Tony grinned at him, making that fluttery feeling in his gut even more intense. Things were moving much too fast, and Steve was having trouble thinking straight.

"Of course, it'd be safer for me somewhere more private," Tony said, lowering his voice in a way that didn't help with Steve's rampant feelings at all. "I have a room upstairs."

Steve had a dozen reasons to say no. Following Tony to his room, when he had no idea Steve was Captain America and investigating this case with Tony as the prime suspect, was awfully duplicitous. Unethical and reprehensible. Besides, Tony might be dangerous. Steve suspected he had caused three, or possibly four, fires within the past week, and was responsible for at least one death, and who knew how many burn injuries.

If he said yes, though, he might get to the bottom of this case much sooner than with any other approach. He might even spot that mysterious artifact, which he supposed Tony would be carrying on his person, if it was so dangerous.

Besides, it could still turn out that Tony wasn't the culprit, after all, and it was all a web of lies and misunderstandings that Tony was attempting to sort out.

Tony shifted slightly, as if to move away. "Alternatively, I could just get you another beer," he offered. Just like last time, he'd quickly jumped to the conclusion that Steve's hesitation was leading up to rejection.

Steve gave Tony's thigh a slight squeeze, to keep him close. "Sorry, I was—I'm a little overwhelmed, I guess. I didn't think I'd even find you, and, well, here we are."

Tony hooked his foot around Steve's ankle. "I wasn't expecting to see you again either, and I regretted that. I swear I'm usually not this forward. It's just, things are a little complicated for me right now, and I don't know what the future will bring, so I'd like to make the best of this, while we can," he explained, speaking with more intensity than he had so far. "If you want to."

"I do. I really do," Steve told him, and that was the complete and honest truth, God help him. He pushed aside his half-finished beer and untangled their legs, getting ready to stand up. "Shall we?"


	8. Chapter 7

* * *

Tony led Steve to a narrow flight of stairs in one corner of the bar. They climbed up three floors; there didn't seem to be an elevator, and there was definitely no bellhop around to help with luggage, either. Of course, in all fairness, the place called itself an inn, and not a hotel. It was exactly the kind of dive where Steve would've expected to meet those thugs he'd interrogated earlier. It didn't seem like the safest possible pick for Tony, but since those mobsters knew who Tony really was, maybe he thought they'd rather go look for him in some luxurious suite than in a sleazy joint like this.

Tony's room was no different from the rest of the inn. When he opened the door and stopped in the corridor to cast a cautious look inside, Steve saw over his shoulder that it was windowless and just big enough to hold a double bed and a small desk with a phone on it. The wallpaper that might once have been white was more of a light beige now, and was peeling in places, but at least the smell of cigarette smoke that'd been ubiquitous in the bar was less pronounced here. The door to the left of the desk was half open, showing a glimpse of a tiny bathroom, a tub filling most of it.

Apparently satisfied that the room was safe, Tony stepped back into the corridor and motioned at Steve to go in first. He did, feeling so nervous he could barely breathe.

Tony followed close behind Steve, shut the door, and stepped right into Steve's personal space, pushing him against the wall with a solid hand on his chest. Although Tony was strong, maybe even stronger than his build would've suggested, Steve could've easily resisted him. He didn't. That would've been out of character for the situation.

He found himself pinned to the wall, with Tony's face so close to his that their noses almost touched. Tony slid his other hand to the back of Steve's neck, his fingers pressed firmly against his skin. They were very warm.

"If this is some kind of ploy and the Kingpin sent you to get me, you'd better tell me right away, because if you don't, it will end badly," Tony snarled at Steve. His eyes were cold as ice, but his hand was starting to grow scalding hot on Steve's neck.

Although Steve hadn't heard of the Kingpin before, it was easy to guess that Tony must be referring to the mob boss the thugs had refused to name, the one who'd backed up Maya Hansen's expedition. That was already a useful piece of information. He did his best not to let it show that it'd meant something to him. With Tony's touch scorching at the back of his neck, a distracted look on his face would probably pass for shock anyway. He wondered if Tony's fingers might leave red marks or even blisters behind. It was unnatural. It had to be that amulet at work, somehow.

"I swear I've no idea who that is," Steve breathed. "My plans for you are something else entirely."

To prove his words, Steve closed the gap between them and pressed his lips against Tony's.

Tony let go of Steve's neck, moving both hands to Steve's shoulders. Steve could feel the heat radiating from them through the three layers of fabric he was wearing, but it was distant compared to that of Tony's mouth against his. It was almost unpleasant, but not quite, like stepping from a cold room into a bathtub full of steaming water. It was no chaste kiss, either; Tony opened his lips and sucked them tight against Steve's, his tongue flicking out. It felt warmer than it should, too.

Steve should've been afraid, probably. He'd seen what Tony and that artifact could do—since it was looking more and more likely that Tony had caused the fires, and was in fact the mysterious burning man. The only sliver of hope that might free him from responsibility was that someone else had been using the artifact those times, but Steve wasn't sure he could bring himself to believe that.

Instead of fear, what Steve felt was a reckless thrill, the same kind he'd get when driving on his bike at breakneck speed, jumping out of an airplane, or battling a horde of enemies against overwhelming odds. He knew he was in danger, and he embraced it. It made him feel alive, made the world seem that little bit brighter and more exciting.

"So, are we agreed that I'm not working for whoever you're worried about?" Steve checked as they pulled apart.

"I'm willing to take your word for it. You've got a very honest and convincing voice," Tony said, grabbed hold of Steve's tie and pulled him into another fiery kiss. Steve wasn't sure if all the prickling he felt around his mouth was from Tony's moustache, or if some of it was from that heat. Either way, it was unique and fascinating.

Steve nudged Tony away gently with one hand and raised the other to Tony's cheek. It felt as warm as every other part of Tony he'd touched so far. "You're awfully hot," he said aloud.

Tony winked at him. "I know, I'm smoldering."

"That's not what I meant," Steve returned, more seriously. He took off Tony's cap, flicking it to the desk, and ran his hand over to Tony's forehead. "Are you all right? It's like you've got a fever."

Tony just grinned. "Nah, I'm great. It's a quirk. I have a naturally high body temperature. The only fever I've got is for you." Tony brought his other hand to Steve's tie as well, and started untying it. "You think you can take it?"

"Yeah. I'm a pretty tough guy," Steve replied, running his hands down to Tony's waist and around it to cup his buttocks.

Tony had gotten the knot open, and tossed Steve's tie carelessly to the desk on top of his cap. He then ran his hands along Steve's upper body, over his shoulders, down his sides, in a movement that almost mirrored what Steve had done, but he could tell there was more to it than that. Tony was surreptitiously checking for hidden weapons. In spite of what he'd said, he didn't fully trust Steve yet. Steve had to admit it was sensible, and it was also kind of impressive that Tony could still keep a cool head even when he was clearly as excited as Steve was.

Steve didn't carry weapons, of course. He could defend himself just fine without. Tony's hands came to rest at Steve's hips, and he gave Steve a demure look through his long lashes. "So, tough guy. Tell me more about your plans for me."

"They may have changed when I found out about this quirk of yours," Steve said, pulling Tony snug against himself and grinding their groins together. He was half hard already, and going by what he could feel, so was Tony.

Tony shuddered, his breathing catching a little. "Well, come on then. Tell me all about it. You want to fuck me? You want me to fuck you? I can do both. I'd enjoy both. Or do you want me to suck you off? I'd love that, too. Don't be shy. I'm certainly not."

Steve felt his face heating up. He didn't usually talk like this. He guessed he was a little shy. Tony made it sound so easy and natural, like he'd done this a thousand times. He probably had. He was older than Steve—looking at him, it was hard to guess at his age, but considering how long his career had been before the war, he had to be close to forty. Being the socialite and traveler that he was, he must be much more experienced as well.

The truth was, in spite of all his misgivings, Steve wanted so many things, he couldn't decide what he wanted the most. He took a steadying breath. "I want you to suck my cock, find out how that feels. I want to suck yours and see if that's as hot as the rest of you," he began. When he saw the look on Tony's face, hungry and eager and not at all embarrassed, it was a lot easier to keep going. "I want to fuck you against the wall. I want you to ride me on that bed. I want all of it."

"That's a good plan. I like everything about your plan." Tony's fingers were already reaching for Steve's waistline and feeling around for the fly. "Maybe we could start from the top and see how far we get?" he suggested.

"Is that what you want?" Steve asked.

"It's very much what I want," Tony said. He opened the buttons on Steve's pants, pulled them down to his knees, and crouched in front of him to nuzzle Steve's cock through his shorts.

"Then yes. Yes, please," Steve breathed. He very nearly added 'Tony' to the end of it, but just managed to bite his lip. He wasn't with Tony. Tony was still pretending to be Ed. If he blurted out Tony's name and Tony noticed, it'd be all over.

The thought came with an instant wave of guilt and regret. This was wrong. This was so wrong. Steve shouldn't be here and he shouldn't be doing this. He should stop. He should tell Tony who he really was. He should handcuff Tony and drag him to the police.

Tony pushed Steve's shorts out of the way, wrapped one hand around the base of Steve's cock, and took the head of it lightly in his mouth. Steve gasped, pressing the back of his head against the wall behind him, every trace of guilt burning away from his mind. The heat against the sensitive skin was bordering on being too much; Steve imagined a lot of people wouldn't have enjoyed it. He did, though. He never said no to things being a little rough, especially after how the serum had changed him. Too cautious and too gentle tended to mean that he wouldn't get much out of it. 

Tony's hand loosened its hold, his mouth slipping away from Steve's cock with a wet sound. "Steve? I don't want to hurt you, okay?" he said, giving the impression that he was having second thoughts, too. "I don't mind how tough you are, you'd better tell me if it's too much."

"I will, I will," Steve promised, placing one hand on top of Tony's head, burying his fingers in the unruly dark hair. "It's good. It's different, but good. Go on."

"Don't need to ask twice."

Tony took Steve in his mouth again, and this time, it wasn't as tentative. He swallowed most of Steve's length with so little effort, it left no doubt as to his experience—Steve wasn't a small guy. It felt like—Steve had nothing to compare it to. The uncanny heat of Tony's mouth was different from any human touch Steve had experienced, be it a hand or a mouth or an ass. It definitely felt a little scary, but somehow, even with all the suspicions of what Tony might've done, he'd also made it clear he wanted this to be good for Steve. He believed without a doubt that if he asked Tony to stop, he would.

Tony started bobbing his head back and forth, and Steve held on to his hair, careful not to pull too hard. He knew his strength, and he didn't want to hurt Tony, either. Every now and then, Tony stopped to lick and suck at the tip of Steve's cock, creating a contrast between the cooler air on the shaft that he wasn't touching and that point of heat at the tip.

With the combination of Tony's skill and the sensations that were skirting the edge of almost too much, Steve didn't last very long at all. He grabbed handfuls of Tony's coveralls as he started to come, the back of his head thunking against the wall, his back arched away from it. He expected Tony to stop, but he didn't. He kept going, licking and sucking even more intensely, as if he wanted every last drop of Steve's come, swallowing it down.

Steve gasped, and may have let out an undignified whimper that no one would ever have believed Captain America could make.

After a few final licks, Tony sat down on his haunches, glancing up at Steve. That, right there, was something else that Steve doubted anyone would've believed: Tony Stark looking all smug, utterly debauched, and distinctly submissive. It was a look did things to Steve, lighting up a warmth to challenge Tony's at the pit of his stomach.

Steve unclenched his hands, leaving the fabric at Tony's shoulders bunched up, and cupped Tony's face with one hand, running his thumb over his beard. He couldn't spot a single stain in it. Tony had caught every last droplet in his mouth.

"They teach you this at mechanic school?" Steve joked.

"Sure. There was all this stuff about shafts and pistons and nuts and lubrication," Tony quipped in kind. Still sitting on the floor, he ran his fingers gently and tentatively along Steve's spent cock, as if he were seeing it for the first time again. When he went on, his tone was more serious. "So, you're feeling all right, still?"

"I'm feeling great," Steve assured him. In all honesty, his cock was a little oversensitive from the heat, and he'd definitely want a break before going for another round of any sort. It wasn't actually painful, though, and he expected it to dissipate soon, since he always healed fast. "Remember what was next on the list? It's your turn, now." Steve added.

"I hadn't forgotten about that," Tony said happily, and stood up. "I remember fucking against the wall was on the list, too, but how about we get rid of the clothes and move to the bed, instead?"

"No argument from me," Steve said. Leaning against the wall for balance, he took off his shoes and stepped out of his shorts and trousers, which he draped over the back of the chair by the desk. Then, he shrugged off his jacket and set it there as well, and started unbuttoning his shirt.

He glanced at Tony, who he realized was leaning on a bedpost, eyeing him. Aside from kicking off his shoes, Tony hadn't even started stripping.

"Aren't you going to join me?" Steve asked. It occurred to him that this might be about the artifact—maybe Tony wanted to hide it. Maybe he'd want Steve not to see him strip.

Tony proved those doubts wrong right away. He gave Steve a sultry look. "I thought you might want to do it."

"I'd love to," Steve said, surprised and delighted, and hurried to get rid of his shirt and undershirt.

Fully naked, he stepped over to where Tony was standing, and went for the zipper at the front of his coveralls. Opening it revealed nothing but bare skin.

Tony wasn't wearing anything under his coveralls. No union suit, like Steve could've expected, not even an undershirt. It was just like in Steve's dream, which felt like ages ago, but had actually been last night.

"Huh, look at that," he commented, glancing at Tony's face with raised eyebrows and a grin.

"Like what you see?" Tony asked.

"Oh, yeah."

Steve opened the zipper all the way. That gave him a very nice view of Tony's front, the olive skin and sinewy muscles he'd only glimpsed before. There was no sign of anything like a pendant around his neck, so whatever shape the artifact was, it wasn't on a chain. Maybe it'd be in a pocket; the coveralls had several of those. Steve had felt there were things in them when he'd been pressed close against Tony, but not enough to tell what they might've been.

To cover for the moment of distraction, Steve leaned closer and pressed a kiss on Tony's stomach. Doing that, he realized that every inch of skin that he saw was perfectly smooth. He wouldn't have expected that. He knew Tony had been in the war, just as Steve had, and had been adventuring for many years before that. Surely he must've been injured at least a few times. There should've been some scars.

Steve worked the entire top half of Tony's coveralls off, revealing his torso and arms in their entirety, and confirming his first impression. He ran his hands down Tony's bare front, over his chest, his ribs, his sides, and it was all entirely unblemished, as if he'd never done anything more dangerous than sit at home reading a book.

He went on peeling off the rest of the garment. Tony was, in fact, wearing briefs, so he wasn't quite as naked as he'd been in Steve's dream. When he had the coveralls bunched up at Tony's ankles, he nudged Tony to sit down on the bed, so he could pull the fabric over his feet and onto the floor.

He took off Tony's socks, too, so he could hold one foot between his hands. He kissed the top of it to give himself an excuse for a closer look. Tony's feet were warm, like the rest of him, and not at all sweaty. His sole was as soft as a baby's under Steve's fingers. Not what he would've expected from someone who'd recently returned from a month-long expedition into the jungle that must've included a fair amount of trekking over rugged terrain.

Feeling so perplexed that he lost the mood for a moment, Steve held on to Tony's foot and put his cheek against Tony's leg, nuzzling it, to buy himself more time to think.

Was it possible that Steve had gotten things wrong, somehow, and this really wasn't Tony, after all? Could this be some kind of lookalike? Had the real Tony Stark been left behind, buried in those temple ruins, and this was someone else?

Steve hadn't known Tony at all before he'd started working on this investigation, so he wasn't really fit to judge whether Tony was himself. He was certainly charming, just as he was supposed to be. None of his friends had questioned his identity, even if Pepper had thought he'd been behaving oddly. She'd suspected mind control, but she hadn't suggested someone else might've actually taken Tony's place.

There was also the matter of his preferences. Jarvis had implied, Steve had thought, that Tony was gay, and here he was, proving just that. How could any impersonator possibly know about it, let alone be willing to live up to it?

"You're not what I expected," Tony commented, in such a startling parallel to Steve's thoughts that he let go of Tony's leg and sat back to face him.

"How so?" Steve asked, not quite able to hide his apprehension.

Tony ran a hand through Steve's hair. "No need to worry, it's lovely. I should've guessed you'd be all gentle and chivalrous, the nice guy that you are," he said, smiling at Steve as if he were the best thing in the world.

Whatever was going on with Tony, whether he was acting himself or not, Steve couldn't deny that he was very, very attractive.

Steve was up to his neck in this now, anyway. Walking away wouldn't undo what had already happened between them. He might as well see this to the end.

"If you prefer less gentle, I can do that, too," Steve said, placed his hands beneath Tony's buttocks, and lifted him right off the bed.

Tony let out a squeal of surprise, but seemed to get over it quickly: he wrapped his legs around Steve's waist and placed his hands on Steve's shoulders, clinging to him for balance. Steve may have gotten preoccupied with other things, but Tony clearly hadn't. The feeling of his rock-hard cock pressing against Steve's stomach through his briefs was definitely helpful in getting back to the moment.

"This more like it?" Steve asked.

"Not that it wasn't good before, but this is amazing." Tony shifted his hands to the back of Steve's head and pulled him into a violent kiss that made Steve's lips tingle.

He set Tony down on the bed, pushing him flat on his back on the thin mattress, and quickly got rid of Tony's briefs. Freed of them, Tony's cock stood up against his stomach, uncut, smooth, as gorgeous as the rest of him. Steve sat between his legs and ran his fingers over it, exploring. It was like touching something that'd been soaking up sunlight all day, almost hot enough to make him reflexively pull back his hand. Steve supposed his fingers would feel cool to Tony. Tony certainly felt the touch, shivering at it and bucking his hips, trying to thrust against Steve's hand.

"I've been a bit unfair, haven't I, making you wait so long?" Steve teased him, running his thumb over the precome beading on the tip of Tony's cock, his other hand roaming up and down Tony's thigh and side.

"Just a little," Tony murmured, rubbing a foot over Steve's leg. "Don't stop now."

"Wouldn't dream of it. You want to come in my mouth, too?" Steve asked. He felt a little self-conscious saying it, but managed not to sound timid.

Tony's foot stopped moving, as did his hips. "Oh, do I ever, but I'm not sure that's safe," he said, his tone suddenly serious.

"It's all been fine so far," Steve said reassuringly. "I'm not worried. I want to do that for you."

Tony rested his hand on Steve's shoulder, his fingers dancing nervously against his skin. "There are things you don't know about me."

Steve knew more than Tony believed, but it definitely wasn't enough. He would've liked to know more. "You can tell me, whatever it is. I'm not going to think the worse of you."

"And what if I don't want to?" Tony asked.

Steve wasn't going to push it, not now. "Then that's okay. You don't know everything about me, either," he pointed out. "Maybe I've got secrets, too."

"I'm sure you do, Mr. Steve Working-odd-jobs, with army issue shorts," Tony said shrewdly. Steve couldn't believe Tony had even noticed that. He clearly didn't miss much.

"I don't mind a few secrets, if you don't," Steve lied. "You've been good to me. Let me return the favor. I'm sure it'll be all right. If it's not, we'll stop."

"I don't mind. I really don't," Tony said, his fingers playing with the stubbly hair at the nape of Steve's neck. "That's the reassurance I needed. That you'll be careful."

"Always, in these things," Steve promised.

He wasn't as practiced as Tony was, and he hadn't done this in some time. Even if Tony was smaller than he was—pretty much everyone Steve had ever met had been—he couldn't take Tony's cock fully in his mouth. He took as much as he could. One of his hands was enough to cover the rest, leaving the other free to run circles over Tony's hipbone and tease his balls as he started working on Tony's cock.

Tony hooked both legs around Steve's and gasped. "Oh, yeah. Oh, Steve. So good."

Hearing Tony say his name was simultaneously exciting and distracting. He'd told Tony his name. His real name. Tony hadn't given his. If Tony found out he was also Captain America—

Steve tried not to think of it. That wasn't difficult, with Tony's cock in his mouth. He put all his focus on that. He couldn't claim it was pleasant; it was like trying to swallow food that should've been allowed to cool down a moment longer. He could tell Tony was loving it, though, which made it more than worth it, and there was that feeling of playing with fire, of excitement and danger at the back of his head. He didn't stop, but held on and sucked as if he could draw that heat right out of Tony.

Tony's fingers dug into Steve's shoulders, his voice turned into a wordless moan, and he came, his cock still between Steve's lips, just like Steve had promised him.

Steve wasn't quite sure what Tony had been so worried about, and he didn't find out. Sure, Tony's come was very warm, too. It burned a little at the back of Steve's throat, like a good strong chili. That was actually nice. Definitely strange, but in an enjoyable way.

He could learn to like this a lot. If only it could last longer than one night.

"You're not like anyone I've ever been with," he said aloud, settling on the bed on his side next to Tony, leaning on one elbow. "I like that." He caressed Tony's smooth chest with the fingers of his free hand. He thought it almost looked as if Tony were glowing, a golden undertone to his skin. He didn't know if that was because of the artifact, or if Tony had always looked like this. It was beautiful, either way.

Tony's eyes had been closed, but they flickered open now. The blue of them was like a placid pool in the middle of a scorching desert. "You know, I don't think I've been with anyone quite like you, either. There's something about you. You make things feel so meaningful, somehow. That's not to say—you know, I don't expect anything. I know this is just a fling. It just feels like it's more than that."

Steve couldn't look him in the eyes. Tony was right; this felt more serious, it felt like an affair that could go places, but that wasn't possible, for too many reasons to count. Tomorrow, he'd have to decide what he'd do. He might well end up putting Tony behind bars.

"I know what you mean. For what it's worth, I wish it could be different," Steve said, one sentence that he could call perfectly honest.

Tony let out a deep sigh. "Yeah. But it can't. I'm sorry, but it can't."

At least they had a mutual understanding about that.

Steve pressed a light kiss on Tony's cheek. "That's okay. I'm used to it."

"Yeah. I guess most of us are," Tony said, resigned. He turned onto his side to face Steve, trailing his fingers along Steve's arm.

"I'm glad I'm here, anyway," Steve added. It was true, as well. Whatever the morning would bring, no matter how wrong it was for him to be in Tony's bed, even if he'd end up regretting it later—he knew he would've regretted it more if he'd just walked away. He'd treasure the memory of this night.

Tony's palm came to rest between Steve's shoulder blades, and either it was a little cooler, or Steve was getting used to his high temperature. "Are you going to stay the night?" Tony asked, his voice casual, but the look in his eyes vulnerable.

Steve couldn't possibly say no to that.

"I'd love to," he replied, wrapping an arm around Tony and pulling him closer.

"Good," Tony said, and gave Steve's lips a quick peck, his expression shifting to something more playful after the brief serious interlude. "So, you think you could go again? Would you like to? We're only halfway through that list of yours. I seem to remember there was something about riding."

"Absolutely, but don't you want to give it a little longer?" Steve returned. It had only been a few minutes; he was surprised Tony was suggesting another round already. Steve wasn't feeling the after-effects of that heated blowjob anymore, so he could go again right away. Thanks to how the serum had changed him, he never needed to wait very long. He'd yet to meet a man who could keep up with him.

"I'm ready when you are," Tony said, without a moment's hesitation.

It turned out that was another thing Steve could add to the long list of surprises Tony had in store that night.


	9. Chapter 8

* * *

Steve woke up with a start to a telephone ringing.

Usually, he'd be sharp and ready to go as soon as he opened his eyes, but today, his brain felt sluggish, and it took him a moment to realize why, or where he was. He got a reminder of that when a startlingly warm hand gave his shoulder a squeeze, and a pleasant voice said, "It's okay, I'll deal with that. You can go back to sleep, honey."

Tony. He was still in Tony Stark's hotel room, in Tony Stark's bed, and the reason he was feeling all groggy was that he'd spent a good part of the night having the most amazing sex with Tony.

They'd been at it for hours. Whatever it was that made Tony run as hot as he did, it also seemed to give him stamina to match Steve's. He hadn't thought he'd ever come across someone like that. It had been incredible. Thinking back to it, it felt unreal, making him wonder if it might've just been a vivid dream, after all.

Tony had crossed the room to the desk and picked up the call. "Ed here, what is it?"

"I've got some lady on the line for you. Says it's urgent," the bored receptionist drawled at the other end.

Steve kept his eyes closed, pretending to sleep, while listening intently. Tony would probably not expect Steve to be able to hear the other half of the conversation. In reality, it was easily loud enough for him to hear every word.

"All right, I'll take it from here," Tony said.

A moment later, a woman's voice spoke up, one that didn't sound familiar to Steve. "Tony? It's me, Maya. I got your message."

The mysterious Maya. The person Steve had had even less luck finding than Tony, who might hold the key to everything. For once, Steve was in the right place at the right time. He was so curious to hear what she'd have to say to Tony that he didn't even feel bad for eavesdropping.

"About time. You're a very difficult person to get hold of," Tony replied, saying neither his nor Maya's name aloud. If Steve didn't have such good hearing, he wouldn't have learned much at all from Tony's side of the conversation.

"I've had to be careful. I'm sure you know how it is," Maya said.

"I do," Tony said, "but I also think you know more than I do, and I'd really like some answers."

That wasn't what Steve had expected; by the sound of it, Tony was lacking some puzzle pieces as well. Waiting for Maya's reply, he barely dared to breathe for fear of missing some crucial word.

"You deserve as much, you really do, but I don't want to talk about it over the phone. Can we meet tonight?" Maya asked. "I promise I'll answer all your questions then."

"The last time we were supposed to meet didn't go so well," Tony said skeptically. Steve guessed he was referring to the first warehouse fire.

"I heard about that, and I'm sorry. I had nothing to do with it," Maya said. Unfortunately, the sound carrying over from the handset wasn't loud enough for Steve to tell what the tone of her voice was. Defensive? Genuinely regretful?

Tony still sounded unconvinced. "If you didn't, then why are you apologizing?"

"Tony, please," Maya insisted. "I do have a lot to apologize for. I'll explain everything. Tonight at eight, at the waterside end of Wolcott Street."

If Steve's memory served, that would put the suggested meeting place in Red Hook, close to the location of that earlier fire. It was more than a little dubious, especially when she put it like that, a fixed time and a fixed place, not a suggestion.

Steve was sure Tony wouldn't like it either, and he didn't. "Why not pick somewhere more public?" he countered.

Maya wouldn't have it. "I don't want to show my face around—I'm sure you understand. It's this, or I go to ground, and you get no answers."

"That sounds like blackmail," Tony said.

"No, that's me being cautious," Maya said. "Will you be there, or not?"

"Fine," Tony said, a harsh, unhappy word. "I will. This'd better be for real."

"You won't regret it," Maya said. "See you in eleven hours."

Steve expected Tony to return to bed after he'd hung up. Instead, he heard the sound of a door opening and closing. It was to the right, so that would be the bathroom door, not the one leading to the corridor.

He realized this gave him an opportunity for some snooping that he'd been considering earlier. After the amazing night, it felt even worse to do things behind Tony's back, but then again, Tony was also keeping things from him. They'd even talked about this and accepted it.

He wouldn't have a lot of time, so he only considered for a few seconds before going for it. As noiselessly as he could, he moved to the edge of the bed to pick up Tony's coveralls from where they'd ended up last night, bunched up on the floor. He'd noticed three pockets yesterday: one at the breast, two at the waist. He quickly checked each of them. He found nothing unexpected: a wallet with a rather disturbing amount of cash, a bunch of keys, and a big, fancy Swiss Army knife.

There was nothing in any of the pockets that even distantly resembled an ancient artifact.

Had that thug been lying to Steve when he'd said Tony's mysterious—and from up close, undeniable—powers were due to some object he carried? The thug had seemed to genuinely believe it, but Steve had now spent a good ten hours in Tony's company, and had seen no trace of such a thing. Steve could think of a few ways it could still turn out to be true: for example, that the artifact's effect did not require close proximity to its user, and it was hidden somewhere in the room, or, a rather disturbing idea, that it had somehow merged with Tony, and was now a part of him, always with him.

It might also be that there was no artifact at all, and this was something else—either Tony wasn't Tony, or if he was, then something extraordinary had happened to him on that expedition.

Steve heard the sound of the toilet being flushed, and of the tap running. He left the coveralls on the floor and hurried to curl up under the sheets again, trying to look like he'd been dozing all along, even though his mind was running wild with speculation about Tony's secrets and the phone call he'd overheard.

He didn't move again or open his eyes until he felt Tony's weight settle on the bed next to him. Then, he shifted closer, and murmured a hopefully sleepy-sounding "What was that?" at Tony.

"Nothing important. Just a work thing," Tony replied. It was probably because Steve actually knew that he was lying, and that it was in fact very important, that he could hear the tightness in Tony's voice, a nervous edge that he failed to hide.

Steve wanted to tell Tony not to go; to insist that it was obviously a trap, and that surely Tony must realize that, too. Suggest to him that he should run away and hide and stay safe, as much as Steve knew he'd never do that himself, if he were in Tony's shoes. He couldn't say these things, of course, not without revealing that he'd listened in on the call.

After last night, any self-delusion that Steve might've held about being able to stay impartial and neutral regarding Tony was gone. He liked Tony. He liked Tony a lot. It wasn't just that last night had been, hands-down, the most memorable sex Steve had had in his life, it was what he'd learned about Tony's character through that. Never mind that Tony was charismatic and shameless and adventurous, he was, first of all, considerate. He'd alway made sure Steve was enjoying things every step of the way.

It was utterly incomprehensible to Steve how Tony could have been capable of the horrific things for which he was the prime suspect—but except for Steve's gut feeling saying that it couldn't be true, everything else seemed to add up, all the clues pointing at Tony.

He couldn't tell Tony not to go, but he thought he should at least say something. "You didn't sound too happy about it," he noted.

Tony moved closer to Steve, resting his chin against Steve's shoulder, his beard tickling Steve's skin. "I'm not," Tony admitted.

"Then why do the work at all? Can't you just tell them no?" Steve suggested.

"I wish I could," Tony said, tracing a line along Steve's collarbones with a fingertip. "I wish I could stay here, with you, for the rest of the day. Get some food. Have you for dessert. Pretend the outside world isn't there. I'd really like that. It's just not that simple."

"Why not? Is someone forcing you? Blackmailing you? Whoever it is, whatever they've got on you, if you need help—you don't have to be alone in this. Not anymore." Steve wasn't even sure if he was trying to fish for information, or if he was genuinely offering his help. Not that he believed for one moment that Tony would accept it.

Tony let out a deep sigh, and turned to lie on his back. "No. I _am_ alone in this, and you can't change that. I've done some things, Steve," he said, his voice openly anguished. "Some very bad things."

It was as close to a confession as anything, and Steve still couldn't bring himself to accept it. He tried to tell himself that he was talking to an arsonist and a murderer and that he shouldn't be feeling sympathetic, but he couldn't help it.

He rolled onto his side and placed his arm across Tony's chest. "I find that hard to believe. You don't seem like a bad man." 

"I used to think I wasn't," Tony said softly. "I'm not so sure anymore. Not since the war, really."

"I know how that is," Steve said, brushing his thumb soothingly over Tony's skin. He could feel Tony's heart pounding beneath his palm, fast and anxious.

Tony glanced at him, the faintest hint of a smile crossing his lips. "Hm. I thought you might."

"None of us came home unchanged, and I doubt there are many who have no regrets," Steve went on. "If that's what we're talking about, I've probably done just as many bad things as you have. But it's not just that, is it?"

"No," Tony admitted, looking away again. "Those bad things I did, I didn't mean to. At least I don't think I did. I hope I didn't. I wish I could be sure." He wasn't making a whole lot of sense, but it was plain as day how much this upset him. "I need to figure this out, and I need to fix it. I can't do that without some answers. That's why I've got to do this, and I've got to do it alone." It sounded like he was trying to convince himself rather than Steve.

"Is it going to be dangerous?" Steve asked.

"Probably, but I'm used to that," Tony replied, now aiming his words at Steve again, with another of those almost-smiles.

"Being a mechanic must be more exciting than I thought," Steve said.

"That depends entirely on the company you keep." Tony winked at Steve, his smile growing warmer.

Steve pressed a kiss on his temple and hugged him tighter. "There's nothing I can say to make you change your mind about this, is there?"

"No, there isn't, but tell you what," Tony began, and shifted to face Steve, wrapping his arm around Steve's waist. "I don't need to go anywhere for several hours. If you're not in a hurry, I wouldn't mind spending that time with you."

It had to be past nine in the morning already. Usually, Steve would be up by this time, with a plan in mind for the rest of the day. Today was different. This encounter with Tony had left him unsure of what his next steps should be. Should he try to bring Tony in, and stop him from going to that meeting? By the sound of things, Tony didn't know everything, either. Only Maya did. If Steve prevented their meeting, he might never learn the full story.

Maybe he should let Tony go and talk to Maya, but be there as well, to observe what happened, and step in if necessary. Now that he thought about it, that seemed like the best course of action. He'd need to go home to change into his costume, but he could get to the Lower East Side and from there to Red Hook in less than an hour.

There were other things he needed to take care of today: he should check in with Bucky, and let Pepper Potts know he'd found Tony, even if he couldn't share any of the details. None of that would take him all day, though.

"I guess I could stick around until lunchtime," he told Tony breezily.

"I'm glad," Tony said, and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. "Now that you've mentioned lunch, I'm actually starving. Let me see if I can do something about that."

Tony got up and walked over to the phone again. Steve took this as his chance to use the bathroom. Before he closed the door, he heard the beginning of Tony's call, apparently to the receptionist: "I realize you don't have a proper kitchen, let alone room service, but how much would I need to pay you to convince you to get me some breakfast?"

Since Tony had the irresistible combination of persuasive skills and a fat wallet, he did manage to talk the receptionist into fetching them a bite to eat. They didn't revisit the serious conversation while they waited for it. Instead, they just went back to rolling in the hay, or more specifically, to leisurely mutual hand jobs. Luckily, the knock on the door didn't interrupt anything too intense, and it only took Tony a minute to make himself more or less presentable so he could accept the delivery. The bills he handed out in return must've been the most money ever paid for a thermos of coffee and some slightly squashed bagels.

After they'd finished eating and just cuddled in bed for some time, they advanced to rather awkward fooling around in the bathtub. There really wasn't enough room in it for two, but at least the clean-up was easy afterwards.

All in all, it was one of the best mornings Steve remembered having in years, if ever.

Far too soon, it was almost midday. As much as he wanted to stay, he couldn't brush aside his sense of duty for the things he needed to do, let alone the foreboding feeling of the night's meeting getting closer and closer. He needed to get out there, back in the real world, where things weren't as simple and sweet as they'd been in this drab hotel room.

He finished toweling himself off and picked up his clothes from where he'd left them last night, partly on the floor, partly draped over the chair. Just the act of getting dressed almost felt like putting up a wall between himself and Tony, moving away from the intimacy and that feeling of honesty that had somehow been there, even if it had been layered with lies and omissions. Even though it was just a suit and not his costume, it almost felt as if he were transforming from Steve Rogers into Captain America.

"I know it's unfair of me to say this, but I'm going to miss you," Tony noted, lingering by the bathroom door wearing nothing more than a towel around his waist.

"It's not unfair, Steve replied. "I'll miss you too. It's been amazing."

Tony picked up Steve's tie from the desk and stepped closer to him to wrap it around his neck, holding both ends of it. He used it to pull Steve into a kiss that was downright desperate, like a drowning man trying to find one more breath of air. Tony's mouth felt even warmer than before, so hot that Steve thought it might leave his lips cracked and swollen, but he didn't care. He wrapped both arms around Tony and kissed him back, one last time.

Steve was the one to break the kiss, when the heat started to feel like too much. Tony loosened his hold of the tie, and started tying a knot in it.

"So, I'm thinking," Tony said, his tone hesitant, his eyes on the tie except for the occasional glance at Steve's face. "Like I've said, things are really complicated for me right now, and I've got to try and do something about that. I'm not sure how it'll go, or how long it'll take. But, you know, in case I actually, eventually get out of this mess, is there any chance we could meet again?"

Tony finished the knot and stepped away from Steve, studying his face closely.

Steve pursed his lips, trying to decide what to say.

It was a lovely idea that he could keep seeing Tony, but it was a complete fantasy, and he knew it. Even if this case somehow ended up resolved in a way that cleared Tony of all suspicions—which seemed extremely unlikely—any kind of actual relationship with him would be awkward at best, since the very foundation of it was built on false pretenses. Maybe, if Tony wasn't guilty, and if they only saw one another every now and then, and it stayed casual, there was a tiny chance they could make it work so that it'd be something they both enjoyed—but Steve could imagine far too many scenarios in which it would end in disaster.

"I'd like that, but I'm not sure it's possible," he finally answered. "My life's not so simple, either."

Tony looked disappointed for a moment, but pulled himself together quickly and gave Steve a wistful smile. "Fair enough. I understand. Still, in case you change your mind, I'll try to be at the bar downstairs tomorrow night, if I can."


	10. Chapter 9

* * *

Steve made it as far as the bar-reception area on the street floor before the first wave of guilt struck him.

The receptionist watched him cross the room with a thoroughly disinterested look, but Steve still imagined there was some disdain in it. He couldn't have seen Steve when he'd stopped by at Tony's door with breakfast, but he'd probably seen Steve follow Tony upstairs yesterday. Steve wondered if some of the other occupants might've also heard them last night. They hadn't been particularly loud, but not exactly noiseless, either, and he didn't expect the building to have the best soundproofing.

Now that he wasn't in the same room with Tony anymore, he found himself considering what other people might think if they knew what had happened. That made it all too clear to him how utterly wrong it had been, from start to finish.

He was supposed to be trying to solve this case. Instead, he'd had sex with his suspect. Sure, he'd probably advanced the investigation more overnight than he would've otherwise, but—what in God's name had he been thinking?

It would've been nice to be able to convince himself that, like Pepper had suggested, there was some type of mind control afoot here, and Steve had been affected by it as well. That he'd done what he'd done under the influence of some magical mysterious artifact. He knew he hadn't, though. He'd been in full possession of his faculties. The only things that'd influenced him had been Tony's charm and his own loneliness. He'd made all his choices himself.

He'd known he shouldn't have, and he'd still done it. He'd enjoyed doing it.

He'd no doubt cherish the memory on many lonely nights afterwards.

He made it to the door and outside, where he realized he didn't feel like catching the subway to go home, so he hailed a taxi instead. The look on his face must've been very grim; beyond asking him where he wanted to go, the driver didn't say a thing to him.

Once he reached his apartment, he undressed and went for the shower, never mind that he'd already cleaned up in Tony's hotel room. The cold water running down his body seemed to clear his head a little, although the way it stung against his dried lips and his still slightly oversensitive cock kept reminding him of what he'd been up to.

The wait for the evening felt endless, and left Steve with far too much time to think.

He managed to get hold of Pepper and tell her, in the most vague words imaginable, that he knew where Tony was, and that the situation would hopefully be solved soon.

When Pepper asked him if Tony was all right, he couldn't help but think of how very much all right and how very, very good Tony had looked in his birthday suit. Steve was glad he was talking to her on the phone and didn't have to worry about the look on his face.

He'd meant to drive over to the police headquarters next, but the more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that it was a bad idea. He knew Bucky would be curious about what had happened and whether he'd found Tony again. He didn't want to lie about it, but he didn't want to tell the truth, either. Bucky knew that Steve liked men and was fine with it, but that wasn't the issue here. The issue was Steve choosing the entirely wrong man to like. Bucky admired Steve and looked up to him, and he wasn't sure if he could look Bucky in the eye so soon after last night.

In the end, Steve decided to just call Bucky, too. The description he went for was a little more detailed than the one he'd given to Pepper, but not much: mainly that he'd found Tony, had strong reasons to suspect that Tony was responsible for the fires, but that he didn't know the whole story, and was hoping to get more details about it tonight. Bucky, in turn, told him that there had been no new fires that seemed like they might be related to the case—just as there wouldn't have been, if Tony was the one causing them. Steve had been keeping him busy, after all.

Steve made one more call after those two: he contacted Dr. Harris to check whether Maya had been around at the university since Steve's visit. She hadn't. No surprises there. If Steve wanted to see her, showing up for Tony's meeting was his best bet.

He tried to think of what else he could do to be better prepared for the evening, but he didn't come up with much. He'd explored all the leads he'd had. There were no stones left unturned.

He ate, although he had no appetite, and spent some time working out, just to distract himself. He was stuck between guilt and worry; as much as he regretted his failure of moral integrity, he also didn't want anything bad to happen to Tony.

Deep down, he was still hoping that somehow, it would turn out Tony was innocent.

When it was finally getting close to the appointed hour, he dressed up in his costume. It made him feel like he was an impostor himself, trying to hide his misdeeds under the flawless guise of Captain America. Cap wouldn't do what he'd done. Not in a million years. And yet, if Steve Rogers hadn't, he wouldn't have known about this meeting, and Tony would've walked into a very likely trap without backup.

Steve checked the site from the map beforehand, and drove there with plenty of extra time so he could park his bike on a side street, out of sight. He then walked to the end of the street using what cover he could find, careful not to be seen by anyone. Thankfully, it was a quiet area at this time of the evening, mostly full of big warehouses. The falling twilight gave him some additional cover.

He didn't see a soul on his way, and soon reached the waterfront. There, he took cover behind some rusting barrels by the wall of a warehouse close to the pier, and settled to wait.

Tony was the first to arrive, at eight o'clock sharp. He came on foot, alone. Still wearing his coveralls and cap, walking with his hands in his pockets, he looked like someone who might be working at the docks. He stopped around a dozen feet from where Steve was hiding, looking around. There was enough light left that Steve could make out the grim look on his face, the thin line of his lips and the frown on his brow.

"I'm here, now," Tony called out. "I don't suppose anyone's here to meet me?"

There was no answer, just the soft wash of the waves against the pier and the distant cry of a seagull.

Tony started pacing, first walking straight towards Steve, so that Steve found himself holding his breath and hoping and praying that whatever powers Tony had, they didn't include enhanced hearing. They probably didn't, since Tony didn't pay any particular attention to the barrels, just turned around and headed away, towards the water, and then back again.

He'd made two rounds and was on his third, at the point furthest away from Steve, when the cars arrived. Three of them, black Jaguars, that parked close to the edge of the water. Tony stopped in the headlights, raising his hands in fists, as people started filing out of the cars.

The first to step out was a large man, wide-shouldered and tall. His suit looked expensive, with a pristine white jacket, and since he wasn't wearing a hat, his bald head stood out. He had a walking stick, though he didn't actually seem to need it. He was followed by several men who looked like your garden-variety gangsters. Steve counted eight in total. He spotted the scar-faced man he'd knocked out in the Groggy Cod among them. They organized themselves in a semi-circle around Tony, pointing guns at him, trapping him at the edge of the pier with nowhere to go.

Two more thugs exited a car with a woman in tow, one of them dragging her by the arm, the other lifting out a ball chained to her ankle. She wasn't struggling, but going by the glum look on her face, her disheveled dark hair and rumpled clothing, she probably had at some point. They brought her to the edge of the water, close to where Steve was hiding, setting the weight by her feet.

"Let her go," Tony growled at the big man, who'd remained in the background by the cars, and was clearly in charge. This must be the Kingpin, then, Steve remembered from earlier.

The Kingpin approached the semi-circle of thugs around Tony, and stepped between the ones in the middle to face him. "I will, Mr. Stark, as soon as you give me the artifact. It's the simplest of trades. Surely you think her life's worth more than some trinket."

Tony took a step closer, his eyes narrowing. "I might, if I had the slightest idea what you're talking about. I don't know what she's told you," he cast a quick glance at Maya, "but it's all lies. I've already said it and I'll say it again: I don't have an artifact to give!"

"Of course you'd say that." The Kingpin almost sounded like a disappointed parent. "Too bad for her." He waved his hand at the two thugs standing by Maya's sides, and they grabbed hold of her arms, ready to shove her into the dark waves.

"Wait!" Maya shouted, squirming in their hold. "He's telling you the truth. There's no artifact! There never was!"

"Stop," the Kingpin said, raising his hand, palm outwards, at his men. He left the ring of guards around Tony and walked over to Maya, stopping right in front of her. He didn't make a single threatening gesture, but just his figure looming over her was enough to give the effect. "You'd better explain yourself, and fast, Dr. Hansen. You're the one who said he had it, and I find it hard to believe that things just happen to spontaneously combust around Mr. Stark for no reason at all."

"It's not for no reason. It's because of him," Maya said, her gaze on Tony. "There's no artifact, only him."

It was as Steve had already guessed, then.

Tony didn't seem surprised, either, not exactly, but there was some confusion on his face. "And I still don't know how! I can't remember!" he exclaimed, spreading his arms. "Obviously, it's got to be the Fountain, but I never would've, not by choice—Maya, what happened to me?"

"What fountain?" the Kingpin asked, looking from Tony to Maya. "First you promise me valuable antiques and magical artifacts, then you lie and say you didn't find anything, and then when we push Stark a little and find out he's gained these very unusual talents, you claim that he took what you found. Your next story had better be a very good one if you want me to believe a single word of it, Doctor."

"The Fountain of Youth!" Maya said hurriedly. "That's what we were looking for. I'm telling you the truth now. Tony can confirm it. I didn't tell you beforehand because I didn't want you to expect too much, and I didn't tell you afterwards because it's best left buried."

"It's far too dangerous," Tony added, his voice solemn.

The Kingpin's expression was skeptical, but he let Maya continue.

"We found it, Al and me, before Tony's group got there," she went on. "We wanted to know if it was the real thing, so we had someone drink from it. One of yours," she glanced at the Kingpin. "His name was Mallen."

"And one mouthful was enough to turn that man into a fire-breathing monster," Tony spoke up again, his tone reproachful.

"Yes, and I'm not proud of that, but we had to test it! Otherwise we wouldn't have found out if it worked," Maya said defensively.

"I'm not in the least interested in your ethical disagreements," the Kingpin interrupted them. "Stick to the facts. Are you saying Stark also drank from this Fountain?"

"I wouldn't have," Tony insisted.

"He didn't," Maya said. "He dived into it."

"I wouldn't," Tony repeated, his eyes wide, shaking his head.

"You did. You just had to ride to the rescue, didn't you? You fought Mallen, but you were no match for him. He'd already killed Al. Everyone else had fled," Maya explained, her face reflecting the horror she must've felt back then. "You were badly injured. Dying, probably. I told you we should run to safety, but you argued that you wouldn't make it, and that someone needed to stop him. So I helped you into the Fountain."

"Oh," Tony gasped, as if the words had been a physical blow.

"I tried to distract Mallen and keep him from leaving the cavern, even though I had no idea if you'd drowned in that pool or what it would do to you if you hadn't. You climbed out of it just minutes later, and you were, well, you know how you are. Different," Maya finished. "I didn't stay for the final showdown between the two of you. I wouldn't have survived that. The temple collapsed, and I thought you'd both died, but clearly, you didn't."

"Clearly," Tony repeated. He'd taken off his cap and grabbed a handful of his hair. "I—I guess I would've done that, but—if that's the truth, then why lie to them?" He waved the cap in the Kingpin's general direction. "Why make up this story about an artifact?"

"I'd very much like to know that as well," the Kingpin said, his narrowed eyes and cool voice full of danger.

Maya ignored the crime lord in front of her, her face still turned towards where Tony stood. "To protect everyone, Tony, including you! I had to say something. Imagine I'd told them the truth about how the Fountain changed you—do you think they would've just left you alone? They would've wanted to capture you, to make use of your powers. Even worse, they'd have wanted to go back there and uncover it."

The Kingpin made a low hum of approval, his lips curling to a smile that somehow seemed even more menacing than his disapproval had. "All very good ideas, Dr. Hansen. Thank you for them. I think you've served your purpose, now. Dispose of her." He waved his hand again at the two thugs guarding her, an offhand gesture, as if she were barely worthy of his attention, and turned his back to her, approaching Tony instead. "Subdue him," he ordered. "Should be easier in the water. I'm sure a few of you can swim."

The scene stopped still for a brief moment before the Kingpin's words sank in, and then, everyone flashed into action at once. The thugs by Maya's sides pushed her over the edge, ignoring her shouts of protest, while the most enthusiastic of Tony's guards bowled him over, sending them both tumbling into the waves, the splashes of the two men hitting the water following only a few seconds after Maya's fall. The other mobsters were a little slower to react, some of them stopping to kick off their shoes, shrug off their coats or take off their shoulder holsters.

Steve left his shield hidden behind the barrels and plunged headfirst into the sea where he'd seen Maya go under.

Even if his first instinct would've been to rush to help Tony, he knew the Kingpin wanted Tony alive. Maya, on the other hand, had a weight on her ankle pulling her down, and was going to drown unless someone helped her. Even if she had been collaborating with the mob and lying to everyone over and over again, she didn't deserve that.

The water was ice-cold, and the visibility close to zero. Steve found himself navigating mostly by sound; he could hear the desperate noises Maya was making. Groping blindly, he soon managed to grab her by the shoulder. She didn't understand what was happening, and tried to punch him, but there was very little strength behind it. Steve used her clothes to pull himself deeper so he could get hold of the shackle around her ankle. He grabbed it with both hands and wrenched. It wasn't particularly sturdy, and broke easily. Maya nearly kicked him in the face when her foot suddenly came free and she started swimming upwards.

Steve followed close behind her, and they broke the surface together. Maya grabbed hold of one of the pillars of the pier, gasping and spluttering for breath. He saw her expression turn to confusion when she caught sight of him. She'd probably expected Tony to be the one who'd rescued her. Treading water, Steve glanced over his shoulder to where he'd last seen Tony. It was difficult to make sense of the scene there, because the water seemed to be teeming with struggling figures. Still, Tony was impossible to miss: he was glowing, with flames dancing on his skin, bright lights in the dusk.

Steve looked at the pier next to him. The platform wasn't very high above them, but there were no stairs or ladders leading up anywhere nearby. He couldn't abandon Maya in the frigid water.

"Stay there, I'll help you up right away," Steve told her.

He climbed back onto the pier easily. Looking around, he saw two of the six thugs that were still on dry land break off from the group to run towards him. He hurried to pick up his shield and flung it at them, catching it again on the rebound. The first man collided into the second and they stumbled backwards, buying Steve enough time to crouch by the water and offer Maya his hand.

She clambered up to the pier and stayed on the ground on all fours, water dripping from her soaked clothes. "I have no idea where you appeared from, but thank you, Captain," she said between chattering teeth.

"Don't thank me yet," Steve said, though the last two words were drowned by gunshots. Of course, he'd had his shield at the ready, and the bullets ricocheted harmlessly from it.

Maya crawled over to hide in Steve's earlier shelter behind the barrels. Steve figured she'd be as safe as she could be there, and charged at the thugs who'd been shooting at them.

It didn't take him long to deal with the attackers; he knocked the first one out with his shield and kicked the feet from under the second. While they were down for the count, he grabbed their guns and tossed them into the sea.

With his own enemies out of the way, Steve could get a better look at the rest of the scene. The sight of it made him stop dead in his tracks.

Tony had climbed back to the pier, although if Steve hadn't known he was Tony Stark, he wouldn't have recognized the man. Somehow, his coveralls had not caught fire; the fabric must have flame-resistant properties. Every part of his skin that wasn't covered by clothing was glowing, but it wasn't that golden shimmer from last night. It was an angry orange, like lava, or metal heated to the melting point. The most disturbing part, though, were his eyes: they were a brighter red in the middle of the fiery glow, and there was nothing human about them anymore.

Around Tony, fires were erupting here and there, people's clothes spouting flames, a pile of timber turning into a bonfire. The heat felt overwhelming even from where Steve was standing, searing hot on the unprotected parts of his face. With it came the nauseating smell of burning building materials, fabric, and worst of all, human flesh.

"Stop him! Shoot him! Knock him out, whatever it takes," the Kingpin was yelling.

Several men started firing at Tony, but they seemed hesitant, probably because of how intimidating Tony looked. The smoke and the heat haze in the air didn't make aiming easy for them, either. Still, one of the shots caught Tony in the thigh, and another grazed his side. He staggered backwards and into a wall, then fell onto one knee. He was still glaring at the mobsters with those uncanny red eyes, and the flames only seemed to grow more intense around him, licking the wall of the warehouse behind him. A window broke with a crash, shards of glass raining down.

"What are you waiting for?" the Kingpin shouted. "Finish him!"

Steve tried to come up with a plan, though he wasn't even sure if he should try to help Tony, or to stop him. He didn't think he could get through to Tony. He wasn't sure anyone could. The thought crossed his mind that maybe, if he took off his mask and revealed who he really was, that might distract Tony—but it was already too late.

At the Kingpin's command, more men had raised their guns, and the next volley of bullets caught Tony in the chest.

Tony jerked at the impacts and cried out in pain. In the light of the flames, Steve could see the dark stains spreading over the front of his coveralls. He'd been hit at least five times, and there was no doubt in Steve's mind that they were the kinds of wounds no one could survive.

Tony was down on both knees now, coughing, the blood running down his chin dimming the glow of his skin.

Two of the men closest to Tony suddenly burst out in flames, completely engulfed. Another window shattered, and inside the warehouse behind Tony, something exploded, making the ground tremble.

There were shouts of "Run!" and "Let's get the hell out of here!" from amidst the thugs, and they hurried to their cars. The Kingpin didn't try to stop them, instead following the group. The slower men had doors slammed in their faces, and then all three cars sped away, tires screeching.

Steve put the shield between himself and the fire and backed away until he reached Maya's hiding place. Their passage to the street and to safety was entirely blocked by fires, so he only saw one safe option.

"Back into the water! Hurry!" he called out.

Maya didn't even say anything, just nodded, looking dazed. She crawled to the edge of the pier and over it. Steve attached the shield on his back and jumped after her, just as another, even bigger explosion shook the ground. With a deep rumbling sound, the wall of the warehouse behind Tony started to collapse.

Steve caught one last glimpse of Tony, on the ground, leaning on one hand, the other splayed over his chest. He was still glowing, but not as brightly as the sea of flames around him.

* * *


	11. Chapter 10

* * *

"Do you think he might've made it?" Bucky asked, his voice subdued.

"I don't see how he could've," Steve replied. As much as he wanted to believe otherwise, it seemed very unlikely.

In the early morning light, the scene around them was like a reproduction of that warehouse fire where Steve had first met Tony: an expanse of burned rubble with a few sections of walls left standing, with broken timber and bent metal everywhere. The smell of smoke lingered in the air, overpowering the scent of the sea. Steve kept expecting that just like last time, he'd hear a sound from from the middle of the wreckage, see some movement, and witness Tony rising from the ashes again. Instead, there was only silence and stillness.

The FDNY had already been through the site last night, once they'd gotten the flames under control. They'd found no survivors. Three men had died, but although they'd been burned beyond easy recognition, the remains of their clothing had been enough to confirm that none of them had been Tony.

If it had been only the fire and the collapsed building, Steve would've been far more optimistic. He knew Tony had already survived a number of fires, as well as the cave-in of the underground temple where the Fountain had been, but there had also been those bullet wounds in Tony's chest. Steve was certain at least one, if not several of them had been through the heart. Even someone with a healing factor wouldn't shrug off an injury like that. Put together with everything else—he doubted anyone could survive all of it.

Steve reached to grab a thick metal beam that was propping up some other pieces of the wreckage, and lifted it aside with a grunt. It revealed nothing but more burned building materials.

The memory kept haunting him: Tony, on his knees, bleeding out, coughing and gasping for air that wouldn't come. Even worse, it kept shifting into the vision from just half a day earlier, of Tony lounging in bed next to Steve, of the lean muscles of his bare chest and the golden glow of his skin.

Steve couldn't stop second-guessing himself, wondering if instead of waiting so he could eavesdrop on the meeting, he should've brought Tony in. It might've gone badly wrong; Tony might've resisted, so that he would've ended up burning down the inn instead of another empty warehouse—but there was also a chance he might've listened to Steve, and that he'd still be alive.

Tony might still be alive, even now, Steve reminded himself. They hadn't found a body. He could be buried underneath, somewhere, barely clinging on to life.

The next thing Steve grabbed was a piece of corrugated iron, with a sharp edge that left scrapes on his gloves. He wrenched it aside. There was no one lying under it, either.

Steve felt Bucky's eyes on him, and he realized Bucky was probably having his own mental struggle, trying to decide if he should be tactful, stay quiet and leave Steve to it, or give in to his curiosity and ask for more details. Steve had just contacted him this morning. So far, he hadn't told Bucky much beyond the fact that there'd been another fire, and that after seeing it, Steve could confirm Tony had caused this one as well as all the other fires.

Apparently, curiosity finally won, since Bucky spoke up again, asking, "So how did he do it, then? The way this place looks, he must've been really powerful."

"That he was," Steve replied. "It was some kind of magic, something he'd come across on the expedition."

He went back to the beginning and told Bucky the whole story as he'd been able to piece it together: Maya's mob-funded expedition and Tony's group running into them, the Fountain of Youth, the fight that had taken place there, and the events after they'd returned home, from Maya's changing stories to the Kingpin to Tony's plight with the mob that had led to the fires. For some parts of the tale, Steve only had Maya's word to go on, but that was all anyone had. Tony had claimed not to remember the events at the Fountain, and whether he did or not didn't really matter, since he wasn't around to give his account.

Maya had assured Steve that what she'd told everyone on the pier had been the actual truth. He didn't feel overly trusting towards her, considering what had happened previously, but he couldn't imagine what she had to gain by lying now. Besides, she'd seemed genuinely repentant; she felt partly responsible for the entire incident. She'd confessed that it hadn't been a coincidence that the two teams had ended up at the Fountain at the same time. She'd left Tony a clue that had led him there, as a backup plan in case she failed to locate the temple with her own team.

Steve had handed her over to the NYPD after they'd escaped the flames. The police were going to arrange some kind of witness protection for her, since it was possible the mob might come looking for her again. Considering how last night's confrontation had ended, though, Steve suspected the Kingpin would deem the whole thing more trouble than it was worth, and focus his resources on something else.

"Did you tell all this to the police, too?" Bucky asked, looking awed, when Steve had finished his summary.

"I haven't given them the full report yet," Steve said. "Most of that will be in it. I don't expect them to believe half of it." 

He'd talked about this at length with Maya. She had insisted that they omit any mention of the Fountain, but Steve had pointed out that even if the people reading the account would believe it, which they probably wouldn't, no one would know the actual location of the temple except for the surviving members of the two expedition teams. The secret would remain safe as long as they kept the information to themselves. Tony's team certainly would, and Maya was convinced none of the thugs who'd been on her team would be able to retrace their steps, so they should be fine on that front, as well.

Steve recognized that he was so insistent on at least telling the truth about the Fountain because he had agreed not to tell the police about Tony.

Not telling would, for all intents and purposes, make him an accomplice, but Maya's arguments had been sound. It seemed likely that Tony hadn't been in control of his actions, and that he had only caused the fires in self-defense and under extreme stress. Besides, Steve still had no concrete evidence to tie him to the fires, only eyewitness testimonies, and he'd never heard Tony's side of the events. If Tony was dead, blaming him for the incidents would serve no purpose but to sully his good name, when he wasn't around to defend himself.

As much as Steve hated hiding the truth, in this situation, claiming that he hadn't been able to identify the arsonist seemed like the simplest choice.

The thought that Tony was gone and Steve had gotten off the hook without having to face any consequences at all for their encounter at the inn made him feel relieved and guilty at the same time. Since no one else knew about it, it was almost as if it had never happened. It was too easy.

Still, more than guilty, more than anything, it made Steve profoundly sad, thinking that he could never even talk to Tony again, let alone touch him.

As sad as he felt on his own, what was even worse was telling Tony's friends.

After he'd spent the morning fruitlessly combing through the ruins, he contacted Pepper, and asked if she could arrange a meeting, because he had bad news. A few hours later, they gathered at Tony's townhouse: Pepper, Jarvis and James Rhodes, a black man in a uniform with a colonel's insignia. Steve couldn't tell if Rhodes was serious and quiet by nature, or if it was the occasion. He didn't smile once, but neither did anyone else.

"Damn him," Jarvis swore once Steve was through the day's second retelling of the recent events. "He should've told me—we looked into this, and we were convinced he must've been in contact with the Fountain, the way he'd healed, but we never saw a trace of these side-effects."

"He was literally setting things on fire! Calling that a 'side-effect' has to be one of the worst understatements I've ever heard," Rhodes said sullenly.

"Never mind that," Pepper said. She looked very pale, but her expression was more thoughtful than shocked. "The most important thing is, he survived back then. He might also have survived this. You said you saw no trace of him today?"

"Nothing at all," Steve confirmed. "He was badly wounded last night, though. I won't lie to you, it looked lethal to me, and I've seen plenty of bullet wounds in my day."

Talking about it brought up the memories once again, the heat of the flames, Tony's howl of pain when he'd been hit, the blood on his coveralls. Steve wondered if Pepper would've felt as optimistic as she did if she'd seen it herself.

"Even so, she's still right. We don't know the limits of his healing abilities, just as we didn't know the full extent of the rest of his powers," Jarvis noted.

"I'm not going to give up hope quite yet. Perhaps you shouldn't, either, Captain," Pepper said. It was almost as if she were comforting him; he'd expected it to be the other way around.

"If he does miraculously return, what's going to happen next?" Rhodes asked.

Steve had already considered that. It would be a tricky situation, and one where he wasn't sure if there would be any right choices. Nevertheless, he'd gladly face it, when the alternative was never seeing Tony again.

"I'm not sure, but I promise you he'll be treated fairly," Steve said. "If you hear anything at all from him, please let me know."

Steve tried to do as Pepper suggested and hold on to hope, as difficult as it was. That night, he went back to the inn, as Tony had asked, wearing his civilian clothes. The receptionist-bartender was someone different that night, a young lady who seemed to share some of the previous one's looks and all of his bored disposition. Steve figured she might be his daughter. He asked her if she'd seen anyone matching Tony's description, but she hadn't.

Steve sat at the corner table where he'd met Tony the last time and waited. Every time someone entered the room, he felt a brief flash of excitement, but it was never Tony. He waited until closing time, wishing that the alcohol he was drinking actually had an effect on him. He could've used something to dull the pain of his loss and guilt.

There was no word of Tony the next day either, neither from his friends, nor on the news. Clearly they'd chosen to keep the situation under wraps; there wasn't one mention anywhere that the billionaire adventurer Tony Stark was missing, let alone presumed dead.

Steve went back to Brooklyn to wait for him on the second evening, as well. He even stopped by at the Cod first, just in case Tony had meant that bar instead, but the bartender didn't remember seeing him in the last few days.

At the inn, the familiar receptionist was back, and when Steve asked him for a shot of bourbon, he squinted at Steve, looking more alert than Steve had ever seen him. "You were here the other night, weren't you?" he asked while pouring the drink. "Are you Steve?"

"Why?" Steve returned, taken aback.

"If you happen to be, your friend Ed left you something. Are you?" the receptionist repeated, not handing over the glass yet.

"Yes, I am," Steve said.

"In that case, don't go anywhere," the receptionist said, pushed the glass at Steve, and disappeared into a back room.

Steve knew this might not mean anything; whatever Tony had left him, he could've done that before the final confrontation with the Kingpin. Still, he was so excited he could barely breathe, his heart hammering against his ribs.

He sipped his drink. It burned at his throat. As if he'd needed another reminder of Tony.

The receptionist returned and placed a black leather wallet on the counter, the same one Tony had kept in his pocket.

"Just so you know, I didn't take his money. He gave it to me, in exchange for handing this to you," the receptionist said, his tone defensive, although Steve hadn't even touched the wallet yet. "I've got to say, he seemed like a man on his way to the gallows."

It had definitely been before that fateful night, then. Steve sighed, some of his excitement fading, and picked up the wallet to go through its contents. Like the receptionist had told him, there wasn't a single bill inside it. In fact, it was almost empty, except for a handful of business cards for Anthony E. Stark, with the Stark company logo, Tony's phone number and address.

Steve turned the first one around. On the flip side was a note: "Steve, I said I had secrets. Well, here's one: Ed isn't my first name. If you still want to see me again, give me a ring."

There probably wouldn't be any point to it anymore, but he'd be damned if he didn't when Tony had asked him to. The hour wasn't too late, yet, just past nine. Steve got up, his drink forgotten, and walked over to the pay phone across the room. 

He'd called Tony's number before, of course; he'd just always done that as Captain America. In fact, the last time had only been some hours ago when he'd contacted Jarvis to check if they'd heard from Tony, and Jarvis had said that they hadn't.

The same as before, Jarvis also picked up now. "Stark residence, Edwin Jarvis speaking."

"Good evening. This is Steve Rogers," Steve began, purposefully making his voice soft and a little higher in pitch than usual, so that Jarvis hopefully wouldn't recognize it. "You won't have any idea who I am, but—"

To Steve's surprise, it turned out he did. "Steve, did you say? You're looking for Tony, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am! How did you know?" Steve exclaimed, his tone high out of pure excitement.

"He said to expect a call from you, but I'll need to be sure you really are the right person. Where did you first meet him?" Jarvis asked.

Of course, Tony would've taken precautions. The question was, would he have done this before or after the last fire? None of Tony's friends had mentioned talking to him after he'd first gone into hiding, after the fire at Maya's apartment, but clearly, Jarvis must've been in touch with him at some point.

"A bar called the Groggy Cod," Steve replied.

"And did you meet him more than once?" Jarvis went on.

"Yes, I met him the following night at the Sleepy Eyes Inn," Steve said.

Even that wasn't enough for Jarvis. "What name did he go by?" he asked next.

"Ed," Steve said, starting to grow frustrated. "He didn't give a last name. He told me he was a mechanic. That's honestly all I learned about him. Please, he said he was in some kind of trouble—can you tell me if he's all right?"

"I guess that will do," Jarvis relented. "And yes, he's all right, more or less."

The relief was so overwhelming, Steve nearly dropped the handset. His knees felt a little weak, too. He leaned on the wall for balance.

Tony was alive, after all.

He was so overjoyed at the news, he couldn't even find it in himself to be angry at Tony and his friends for hiding the truth from Captain America.

"Can I see him?" Steve asked. It came out sounding like he was asking a father's permission to take his son out on a date. Of course, that wasn't entirely inaccurate.

"Well, because of the trouble he mentioned, he's had to go out of town, indefinitely," Jarvis said. "But he's asked me to tell you that if you've got a day or two to spare on a trip to the Adirondacks, he'd very much like to see you."

* * *


	12. Chapter 11

* * *

If Steve had only been Steve Rogers, he would've written Tony a letter telling him he'd indeed like to meet again, and to sort out a suitable time for his visit. He wasn't, though, and he was certainly not going to wait as long as it took for a letter to reach Tony's hideout, and then the same time again for Tony's reply.

He wasn't going to meet Tony as Steve Rogers. He needed to close this case, and he needed to do it properly. He would go as Captain America. Whether he would tell Tony that those two were one and the same, he wasn't sure. In a way, he thought Tony deserved to know. Then again, in a selfish corner of his mind, he thought that if he didn't, maybe Steve could meet Tony again. If Tony found out about his deceit, he certainly wouldn't want anything further to do with Steve.

Steve would've preferred to just hop on his bike and drive through the night to get to Tony as soon as possible, but he had a meeting scheduled with the FDNY regarding the fires first thing in the morning. Perhaps that was for the best; waking Tony by showing up at his door at dawn would definitely not be the best of ideas. Steve would have to be careful. He'd seen what Tony could do when he was cornered and desperate.

So, Steve went home and spent his night sleeping fitfully and going through variations of the upcoming conversation with Tony in his mind. Half of them ended up in flames, the other half in fiery moments of passion. Unfortunately, the first was by far the more likely outcome.

The morning's meeting was long and tedious, particularly since the objective was to go through the results of the investigations concerning the earlier fires. Steve found it very difficult to pretend to be interested in the details of each fire's exact starting point or how the flames had spread, when he was about to go meet the person responsible for them—which of course he couldn't mention, because he'd chosen not to divulge Tony's identity.

The only person Steve told where he was going was Bucky. That meant trusting Bucky with a heavy responsibility: if anything happened to Steve, Bucky would be the only one aside from Maya and Tony's friends who knew the truth. Steve didn't think it would come to that, though. Steve wasn't worried for himself. He didn't think Tony would want to hurt him, not unless he tried to hurt Tony first.

Close to eleven o'clock, the meeting was finally over, and Steve could start his long drive upstate. Looking at the map, he'd estimated that getting to Tony's hideout should take him around seven hours, plus whatever breaks he wanted to take. If he hadn't needed to refuel, he might not have taken any.

After almost six tedious hours on the US9, he reached the intersection that took him towards smaller roads. From there, they kept shrinking the further he went, until he found himself on a dirt track through wooded hills, occasionally passing cabins hidden amongst the trees.

Steve had pictured Tony staying at some big ranch matching the luxury of his townhouse, but this secluded corner of the wilderness didn't look like the place for one. The further he drove, the worse the quality of the track became. It seemed to parallel his mood, which was growing more and more frayed.

So much would depend on him choosing his words and even his gestures correctly—and he'd never considered himself particularly good at that sort of thing.

He wanted so badly to get this right.

With the sun low on the horizon, the track finally curved past a mailbox on a crooked post to end in front of a small, ramshackle cabin that couldn't have been more different from Tony's home in NYC. Though the building was decrepit, its location was picturesque: it sat close to the shore of a placid lake, surrounded by beech and aspen trees, with the fresh green of budding leaves dotting their branches.

Steve hadn't even gotten off his bike when Tony emerged from the house, no doubt alerted by the sound of the approaching engine.

Tony had finally changed out of the coveralls, into casual clothing that fit the surroundings: a dark blue woollen sweater and simple gray pants. He looked good, and more than that, perfectly fine and uninjured. He walked without any trace of a limp or the hunched posture of someone guarding recent chest wounds. Considering what he'd been through three days ago, that was nothing short of miraculous.

The moment Tony set eyes on Captain America, his expression shifted from wary to openly hostile. He didn't quite raise his fists, but he did steel his shoulders and put his weight on his heels in a defensive stance. "I'm not going anywhere," he announced in a low, dangerous growl.

"You don't have to. I'm not here to take you away," Steve said, careful not to raise his voice in response. He stepped off his bike and spread his arms placatingly. "I just want to talk."

Tony held his ground, his posture unchanged. "And what if I don't want to talk? Are you going to make me?"

"Of course not! I'm not going to beat a confession out of you!" Steve exclaimed, appalled that Tony would think that of him. "Look, Mr. Stark. Tony. The only reason I'm here is that I've spent a lot of time investigating this case. All I want is to learn the truth. I think I've got most of it figured out already, from what Dr. Hansen told me, but I'd prefer hearing your own account about your part in the events."

"You spoke to Maya?" Tony asked, like he couldn't believe his ears. "She's okay?"

"Yes. She's fine, and she's safe," Steve reassured him.

Tony blew out a breath, his shoulders sagging. "God. I'm so glad to hear that. I thought she must've drowned."

It hadn't occurred to Steve that Tony might not have been aware of Captain America's presence at the final fire, but that was what it sounded like. It did make sense, considering that Steve had only joined the fray after Tony had already been pushed into the sea; Tony hadn't really been himself after that.

"I was there, and I helped her out of the water," Steve clarified.

"What? How did you know—how were you there?" Tony's eyes narrowed, and he tensed up again. "No, never mind that, how the hell are you here? How did you find me? I can't believe they would've told you. Not Jarvis, definitely, but could Pepper or Rhodey—no, they wouldn't do that to me either, not when they promised not to." There was such betrayal on Tony's face that it was painful to look at, and Steve couldn't let him think that of his friends.

"They didn't," Steve said firmly.

"Then who could've—" Tony fell silent, the look on his face turning to open shock, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open. "Steve?"

And there it was, Steve thought: Tony had put two and two together, recognized Steve's voice and the lips and jawline he had gotten intimately familiar with, and it was all over.

"It wasn't like you think," Steve began.

"I thought, maybe the Kingpin—but it was you all along. You sent him to spy on me!" The icy rage in Tony's eyes was something far more personal and piercing than that red glow Steve had witnessed on the pier. "Well, I did think he was too good to be the real deal. I can't believe Captain America would resort to something like that. He was really, really good, I have to say. I've no idea how you managed to recruit him."

Tony hadn't guessed the truth, after all.

It hadn't even crossed Tony's mind that the man wearing the costume might be a flawed one that held just as many secrets as Tony did.

Steve had been ready to pull off his cowl and confess everything, but now, the biting hatred on Tony's face and the fact that he hadn't, even for one second, considered that Steve might've in fact been Captain America, gave him cold feet.

"No, it was nothing like that!" Steve tried again, thinking fast, reaching out for some lie that would make things better. "I didn't send him. He came to me, after he'd met you. He knew you were in some kind of trouble, and he'd heard I was looking into this case."

Tony glared at him suspiciously. "Then why didn't he come here himself? Why send you instead?"

Steve struggled to keep his face neutral. He realized this wasn't the most watertight of stories, and he wasn't great at improvising. He'd just have to hope it was enough. "He wanted to. I told him not to, not yet. I'd seen that fire at your meeting with the mob, and I thought it might not be safe."

"Well, you were right about that," Tony said, his voice bitter. "I'm not safe to be around. Not safe at all."

"Because of the Fountain," Steve said, hoping to nudge the conversation in another direction.

"How do you—wait, you said you were there, that night. You heard the whole story when Maya told it?" Tony asked.

"Yes, and she told it again, later, in more detail. She didn't know all of it, though. I was hoping you might fill in the gaps," Steve replied. "That's all I'm asking. Tell me what really happened, and I'll leave you alone."

Tony sighed, crossed his arms, looked at the ground, and then at Steve again. "You'll really just leave me be, if I do? You won't bring in the police and the Invaders and the National Guard and try to put me behind bars for the rest of my life?"

"It looks to me like you've already got that covered on your own," Steve noted, with a vague nod towards their isolated surroundings.

"Like I said, I'm not safe to be around," Tony repeated. "I can't be out there among people, not when I can't trust myself to keep it under control. I've already hurt too many. Killed some, too." His voice broke towards the end, the remorse in it tangible. 

"But you never meant to," Steve said. It wasn't even a question.

"I can't even say for sure that I didn't." Tony sounded even more miserable, and tired, as well, with the tension of Steve's sudden arrival fading.

They were still standing in front of the cabin. It didn't feel like the best place for what was hopefully developing into a serious, candid conversation. "Maybe we should sit down," Steve suggested.

"Right. You've spent a long day on that bike. Come on." Tony waved a hand towards the small porch of the cabin, where a simple bench with some well-worn cushions had been set against the wall.

Steve counted this as his first victory: nothing was on fire, and they were actually talking.

They sat down on the bench, a gap wide enough for an additional person between them. In front of them opened a beautiful view over the lake: the first colorful hints of an approaching sunset were playing on water that was smooth as glass. They spent a moment in perfect silence, with nothing but the faintest whisper of the wind in the branches of the trees around them.

Steve didn't want to push Tony. He was surprised enough that he'd gotten this far, and that Tony didn't seem angry at him anymore. Instead, he looked resigned and sad, gazing into the distance, eyes unfocused, like he wasn't really seeing the lovely landscape in front of him.

"I can't fill in those gaps for you, not really," Tony said, at length, breaking the quiet. "I don't remember."

The first time Steve had met Tony in the ruins, after the warehouse fire, Tony had claimed not to remember anything about how he'd gotten there. Steve had been wondering about that. It sounded like he'd been telling the truth, back then.

"You have no recollection of anything that happened during the fires?"

Tony shook his head, his lips pursed. "Only flashes. Nothing past flames and pain, for most of them. It varies a little. That first time, at the Fountain, I can't remember a thing about it. I can't even be sure Maya's telling the truth. For all I know, she might've pushed me into the water against my will."

"Would she do that?" Steve asked, horrified.

"I didn't think she would, but I didn't expect her to ally herself with the mob, either, nor to lie to them multiple times," Tony said. "But no, I don't think she did, not really. What she's saying makes more sense. I can imagine myself in that scenario, going for the last resort when there's nothing else left."

"And it worked," Steve said.

"It did, but it came with far too high a price. It's ironic, more so than you could possibly imagine." Tony still wasn't facing Steve, that distant look on his face again, as if he were a million miles away. "See, I spent years of my life looking for something exactly like this. Some kind of magic that could fix my heart." He touched his chest, running his fingers lightly over the left side of it. Steve wasn't sure if it was for emphasis, or just a subconscious gesture.

Tony made it sound like that had been a major motivation behind all his adventures, but that wasn't something that'd been in his magazine. Steve had never heard that there'd been anything wrong with him. And whatever it had been, it was obviously in the past now; after the Fountain, he seemed to heal faster than anyone Steve had met.

Steve decided not to ask about it, but just waited in silence for Tony to go on.

"I didn't believe I'd come across a solution, not anymore, not after the war. I was resigned to my fate, and then this happened. I haven't been this healthy in decades." Tony didn't sound happy at all about it, his voice bitter. "No more worries about running out of charge. No aches or pains, either. I was starting to feel my years, and that's all gone. I might live much longer than any ordinary man, now. And if I had the choice, I'd rather go back to what I had before. If I have to spend the rest of my life in isolation, well, as you put it, I might as well be in prison."

It was a terrible burden, and Steve hadn't really fully considered it from Tony's perspective. He could imagine wanting to do the same if he were in Tony's position; if he knew he was dangerous to other people, choosing to keep away from everyone, indefinitely, seemed like the safest solution. It couldn't possibly be the only one, though. Steve knew other people with powers that resembled Tony's. It wasn't beyond the realm of possibility that he could use them for good instead of chaos.

"Maybe it doesn't have to be like that. Maybe you could learn to control it," Steve said.

Tony finally glanced at him, a desolate look to match his voice. "Don't you think I've been trying? When I realized that maybe there was no one after me, and maybe I'd caused those fires myself, I spent hours sitting in the bathtub trying to bring up flames, and didn't get as much as a single spark. Made me wonder if I had it wrong, after all. That night when I first met the Kingpin, I tried to hold back. I fought really hard. I thought I'd even made some progress—I didn't black out that time, not entirely, I just felt detached and everything was hazy. I remembered more about it afterwards, too. But then there was that other night, at the waterside, and—well, you saw how that went. I've made a tiny bit of progress since then, I think, but it's too little, and far too late."

"You can't take the blame for everything that happened," Steve said. If he'd had any doubts about Tony's integrity, they were all gone now. He could see how much pain this had caused Tony. In a way, even though he'd been the one to light the fires, Tony had been more of a victim than the true culprit. "They attacked you. They shot at you. You would've died without those powers. What you did was all self-defense, even if it was extreme. It was the Kingpin and his men that made you lose control."

"Self-defense or not, it doesn't justify burning people alive, or destroying the homes of my friends," Tony said.

"You didn't actually mean to do any of those things," Steve insisted.

Tony shrugged. "I told you, I can't be sure about that. I didn't, when I was still able to think. What goes through my head when it's happening, that's anyone's guess."

It was a terrifying thought, not having any control over what you were doing, and having to piece it together afterwards. "I know something about learning to accept big changes, about becoming someone different and having to rethink your entire life, but what I've faced has been much easier than what you're struggling with," Steve said. "It must be scary."

"It is," Tony admitted, softly, his gaze on the hands resting on his lap. "It really is."

"There's no reason you have to deal with it alone, though," Steve pointed out. "And I'm not talking about myself. You have friends, people who care about you. You didn't even tell them what was going on, did you?"

He'd obviously told them something about it later, since Jarvis had known that Tony was alive and that he was here, but back when Pepper had called Steve, it'd seemed like she was genuinely worried about Tony, and like she hadn't known at all what was going on.

"I didn't," Tony said, with some regret in his voice. "I didn't know if I was guilty or not. All I knew was that it wasn't safe for anyone to be around me. I thought it would be better for me to stay away until I could understand what was going on."

"When I came after you, you could've just told me the truth," Steve added. "I would've listened. Maybe I could've even found a way to help you. Instead, you made it look like you were running away from me."

Tony raised his eyes towards Steve again, apologetic this time. "I'm sorry about that. I wasn't sure you'd believe me, or what your intentions were. Besides, if you'd tried to detain me, I might've hurt you."

Steve almost chuckled aloud at that. "That's got to be a first, someone worrying that they'd hurt Captain America."

Tony didn't seem amused at all. "I've always admired you, you know, Captain. Since I heard about how you volunteered for that experiment, and about your bravery during the war. You're the kind of man I'd like to be, but I'm not. I'm all too aware of that. I've questioned many things I've done over the years. Like I said, a lot of what I've done has been driven by, well, personal reasons, and just seeking a thrill, always looking for something new and exciting. Sometimes I think I'm the most selfish person there is." He paused to take a shaky breath. "On some level, I kind of feel that maybe I deserve what's happened to me. Reap what you sow, and all that."

Steve swallowed, his throat feeling tight all of a sudden. It was both out of sympathy and disbelief that Tony would berate himself like that, and because Tony had no idea what he was talking about. Just like everyone else, he'd put Captain America on a pedestal. Especially coming from him, it was completely undeserved, after what Steve had done.

He realized that he couldn't hide the truth anymore. This was the moment he'd been dreading, and he knew it would not go down well, but he had to do it, anyway.

"I've questioned some things I've done, as well," Steve said, and pulled down his cowl, revealing his face.

Tony leaped up and backed away, his eyes huge with disbelief, as if Steve had suddenly turned into some kind of a monster. "No. No, that's not possible. You're not—you can't be… That's a dress-up costume. This is some kind of terrible practical joke. You're not really Cap."

Steve stayed on the bench, sitting very still, his back ramrod straight, hands clasped tightly together. "It's not a joke. My name's Steve Rogers, and I'm Captain America. The one and only."

"No," Tony shook his head, leaning on the railing behind him as if he might fall over without it. "You tricked me. You—I can't—it was hard to imagine you sending someone after me, but that you'd—you slept with me just to solve your case?"

"I didn't. That's not why I did it. I swear that's not what it was." Steve tried to make his voice as emphatic as he could, but it didn't seem as if he was getting through.

"How can you expect me to believe a word you're saying anymore?" Tony snarled. It was only fair of him. Steve had lied and deceived him just as many times as Maya had.

"Tony, if you'd just—" Steve tried.

"No. Go away. I'm done with you." With one last, chilly glare at Steve, Tony walked to the entrance and into the cabin, slamming the door shut behind him. The sounds of locks and latches being closed followed right after.

Steve got up slowly and walked to the shore, feeling hollow. The sunset had turned to a proper spectacle, reds, oranges and yellows reflected from the water in a display that called to mind the fires. It only made the lump at his throat feel bigger.

He found a rock and sat down on it, pulled off his gloves and buried his face in his hands.

He didn't know what to do. Maybe he should just leave, like Tony had told him to. That would be the easiest and simplest solution. It would also be the most cowardly one. Walk away, forget about Tony, let him spend the rest of his days in hiding. Try to never think about any of this again.

Of course, Steve had never been a man who preferred the easiest way.

Tony had been so furious, Steve hadn't even been able to apologize to him properly. He was right to be angry, too. What Steve had done had been disgusting. He couldn't deny he'd been spying on Tony, but it had been more than that. He needed to apologize, but he also wanted to make Tony understand how much he'd wanted it and how much he'd enjoyed it, because otherwise, if he just left, Tony would think that nothing about the night they'd spent together had been real, and that couldn't have been further from the truth. It had been one of the best nights of Steve's life.

He wasn't sure how long he stayed where he was, sitting on the damp, mossy rock. With the sun almost gone, the air was rapidly cooling down. Steve was used to the cold, and it shouldn't have bothered him, but somehow it seemed to chill him right to the bone.

He sat, and waited, and tried to think of what he could possibly say to make things better. He wasn't sure such magical words existed; he'd really made a mess of things, and nothing could erase that.

The sound of a door opening and closing pulled him out of his introspection with a startled jump. Then, there were soft footsteps approaching him.

"You're still here," Tony called out, his voice harsh. He came to a halt a few paces behind Steve.

Steve stood up, brushing dirt off his costume, stretching his cold-stiff limbs. "I didn't want to leave before at least getting the chance to tell you how sorry I am."

Tony scoffed. "Well, you've done that. You can go now."

It was Steve's turn to avoid eye contact; he looked away, at where the sun had disappeared behind the horizon, leaving a soft glow like dying embers. "That wasn't the only thing I wanted to say."

"Fine. Let's get it over with, then," Tony said.

Steve took a deep breath, still undecided on how to place his words. His exhalation came with a faint puff of mist. He crossed his arms, tucking his bare hands in his armpits.

The only thing he had his mind set on was that whether or not Tony believed him, he was going to stick to the truth.

"That first time we met, I wasn't even looking for you. It was pure chance that we crossed paths," Steve said, slowly, considering each phrase. "The second time, at the inn, that was on purpose. I found out where you were, and decided to come to you without the costume, since you didn't want to talk to Cap. But I really wasn't expecting the rest of it."

"So, you found me, an opportunity offered itself for you to do some advanced intelligence gathering, and you took it," Tony summarized, scornful.

"Yes, and no. I can't deny that I did see an opportunity, but I never, ever would've followed you to your room if I hadn't wanted to—if I hadn't wanted you," Steve confessed, staring at the tips of his boots. They looked gray in the twilight, and his toes felt numb. "Because I really did. You were flirting with me, and, well, you're just, you're incredibly attractive. As much as I'm Captain America, I'm still human. Sometimes I want things so badly, I can't say no, even if I know I should."

He heard Tony shift on his feet. "You really mean that?"

Steve lifted his gaze to finally see Tony eye to eye. "Yes. I'm done lying," he said, in the most unwavering tone he could muster.

"But you couldn't possibly—" Tony protested. "Not you, of all people!"

"You were there with me that night. You saw how much I enjoyed it," Steve reminded him. "There was nothing false about that. I doubt there's an actor on the whole planet who could be that convincing."

"But you're Captain America," Tony said, voice still filled with disbelief.

"And you're Iron Man," Steve returned. "A war hero, just like me."

"Nothing like you," Tony insisted.

"We're more alike than you're willing to admit," Steve said. "Two flawed men trying very hard to do the right thing. I'd think by now you'd have realized that I make mistakes, too. Big ones. Maybe ones that can't be forgiven and that I end up regretting for the rest of my life."

"You would—" Tony began, then fell quiet again, his expression unreadable in the dusk.

"Many of the things I said back then were entirely true. I've never met anyone like you. I don't think I ever will," Steve said solemnly. "I'm sorry that we didn't meet under different circumstances. Whatever comes next, I'm not going to forget that night."

Tony stayed quiet for a good while after that, studying Steve, his unsteady breathing loud in the cool night air. When he finally spoke up, his voice was cautious, as if he were as afraid as Steve that one misstep might make the moment fall apart. "I enjoyed it a lot, too, you know. My biggest regret was that you couldn't stay longer."

"I'm here, now," Steve said, just as softly.

Tony stepped closer to Steve and placed a hand on his shoulder, a single point of warmth amidst the chill. Steve shivered at the touch, though that was more than just the temperature.

"It's cold out here," Tony said, and brought his other hand between them. His eyes closed for a brief moment, a look of intense concentration on his face, and when he opened them again, flames sprung up on his palm, like a tiny campfire. "Let's go inside. I'll warm you up."

* * *


	13. Chapter 12

* * *

Tony held out his hand, the flames on it lighting the way for him and Steve as they walked back to the cabin. The soft, warm flicker flicker brought to mind a torch, and gave the moment a dreamlike mood. It was only fitting; Steve couldn't quite bring himself to believe that they'd reconciled with one another.

Together, they stepped inside. The single room of the cabin was cozier than the shabby exterior had suggested. There was a kitchenette by one wall, with a table just big enough for two nearby. On the opposite wall was a fireplace, surrounded by a rocking chair and a pair of leather armchairs. At the back, a spiral staircase climbed up to a loft, where Steve could spot a double bed. The sheepskin rug in front of the hearth, the chestnut-brown curtains on the windows, and the matching cushions on the chairs made the place look less ascetic than it otherwise might have. A few paintings depicting landscapes and animals decorated the walls. Nothing about the place reminded Steve of Tony's townhouse, and he guessed Tony hadn't furnished it himself, but it was a nice little place. He could imagine staying here and feeling at home. 

Once they'd crossed the threshold, Tony closed his hand, and the flames went out, leaving the room much darker. Clearly, the cabin wasn't on the electric grid; what light there was came from the fireplace and several lanterns and candles set here and there. That meant everything still seemed slightly unreal.

Before Tony had let his hand down, Steve captured it between both of his. "That definitely looked like you've learned a thing or two."

"I said I'd made some progress, but it's not much," Tony said dismissively.

"I think it's brilliant," Steve declared. Ever so slightly worried about overstepping the boundaries of their truce, he brought Tony's hand to his lips and pressed a kiss on the knuckles. Their warmth reminded him of a mug of tea on a cold winter day.

Tony chuckled softly. "I'm having a hard time believing you're for real."

Steve wasn't sure if that was good or bad. He let go of Tony, but instead of stepping away, Tony placed his hands on Steve's shoulders, running them back and forth, as if feeling the fabric of his costume. Not knowing where this was going, Steve stayed quiet and still. Tony spent a moment playing with Steve's folded cowl, then moved to tracing the outline of the star on his chest.

"Captain America." Tony shook his head. His hands came to rest on Steve's waist, his thumbs hooked under Steve's belt. "Out of all the people I thought I could never have."

Steve blinked at him, confused. "You've thought about me before?"

"I doubt there are many who haven't," Tony said, like that was the most obvious thing in the world. "Your costume doesn't exactly hide your body, you know. Peak human perfection—makes one wonder whether that applies to every part of you. I guess I already got the answer. It was obvious there was something unusual about you, that night."

"I think you're the more unusual of the two of us. Downright miraculous." Steve cupped Tony's face, brushing his thumb over the cheekbone. "I thought you'd died and I'd never see you again. I was devastated."

"But you barely know me," Tony said, shifting his hands to Steve's back in a loose hug.

Steve mirrored Tony's movements, bringing one hand to the small of Tony's back and the other to the back of his neck. "Just the thought that I'd missed my chance of ever learning to know you better was unbearable."

"Well, you've got your chance now." Tony smiled, and leaned in for a kiss. It was just a quick peck; another enticing touch of heat against Steve's lips. The suddenness of it was enough to leave him slightly dazed.

As Tony pulled away, he also let go of Steve and stepped backwards. Apparently, Steve wasn't the only one who was hesitant about what was all right and how fast they should be moving—they both seemed more timid, not less so, now that their secrets had been revealed. Perhaps it wasn't surprising. Last time, Steve had thought it would be just the one encounter, and that there could never be anything beyond that. Today, things were different.

"So, Captain, you've had a long day. Anything I can get you?" Tony asked, his voice casual, although Steve thought there was some tension to it, still. "A bite to eat? Something to drink? You've probably noticed this place is pretty frugal, so there's no running water, but don't worry, I've got plenty to spare. Oh, and the privy's outside, if you need that."

Steve couldn't deny that he was a little hungry and thirsty, and felt like he could use a shower after the hours he'd spent on the road, but none of those things were currently on top of his mind. "What if I said the thing I want most is right here in front of me?" Steve returned. With Tony having backed away, Steve's hands had ended up on his biceps, and he tightened his hold of them to emphasize his words.

Tony grinned, his face lighting up. He didn't need to move much to shift closer to Steve again, so close that they were chest to chest. He clasped his hands together behind Steve's waist. "Then I'd say I'd be happy to indulge you."

"Good, because that's exactly what I want." Steve stepped closer to Tony, driving him against the closed door, going for another kiss.

This was nothing like that first chaste peck, but more like many of the passionate kisses they'd shared last time, just like Steve remembered them: the heat of Tony's lips against his own, the tickle of Tony's beard and moustache against his clean-shaven skin. The warmth of the embrace drove away every lingering trace of the chill that he'd felt outside. Steve clung to Tony, hugging him close. He licked his tongue over Tony's upper lip, and Tony opened his mouth more, letting Steve's tongue in to meet his. It was even warmer than his lips.

The sensations, so close to overwhelming, brought to mind everything that had happened last time, and Steve's body was quick to respond. All they were doing was kissing, and his cock was already starting to strain against the tight confines of his costume. Tony would feel that, too, the way they were pressed together, his body sandwiched between the door and Steve. Realizing that suddenly made Steve awfully self-conscious.

He was wearing his costume; this was entirely inappropriate.

He backed away, letting his hands rest on Tony's hips.

Tony smiled at him, at first, wide and brilliant, but then seemed to notice the look on Steve's face. "Steve? Something wrong?"

"Uh, no, it's just," Steve stammered. "I think I should get out of this thing first." He nodded down at himself in a vague gesture.

"The costume?" Tony frowned. "I wouldn't mind having you out of it, but there's no hurry. I love the costume. I'd love to—oh."

Steve was grimacing; the idea of what Tony might've loved to do when Steve was still in costume was exciting and shameful at the same time. He tried to ignore the note of excitement. That just wasn't right.

Steve's expression seemed to be enough for Tony to catch the drift. He took each of Steve's hands in his. "Steve. You do realize there's nothing wrong about this, don't you? About us?"

The way Tony said that, without any hesitation, like he was stating a fact, made Steve feel a little foolish, but he couldn't shake his discomfort. "Not wrong. It's just—it's not decent. It's not something Captain America would do."

"If you're doing it, yes, it clearly is," Tony insisted, "and you shouldn't feel ashamed of it. But I understand. I can imagine it's not easy being a national symbol. I mean, I can't deny that it was a surprise for me to realize you're not straight. I may have assumed a lot of things about you that aren't true. I guess I've got a lot to learn about you, too." He started to let go of Steve's hands.

Steve caught hold of Tony's fingers, lacing them with his own. "You already know more than most people. I'd love to teach you the rest."

"I like the sound of that," Tony said, his smile returning. "So, lesson one, no hanky-panky in the costume, for now. I guess that means we have to get you undressed, huh?"

"Sounds like the way to go, yes," Steve agreed. Maybe someday, he'd be more at ease letting his two personas overlap. Right now, he was just relieved that Tony didn't press the matter.

Tony guided Steve towards the middle of the floor with one hand on his shoulder, bringing them close to the armchairs and the fireplace. He then went to work detaching Steve's belt, to which Steve had no objections at all. Steve slid it out of the loops himself, and raised his arms so Tony could wrestle the top half of the costume over his head. Tony folded it over one arm of an armchair with a surprising amount of care, almost reverently. Steve wasn't sure if it was out of respect for Steve's feelings about that costume, or because Tony was still in awe of Captain America. Perhaps both.

When he turned back towards Steve, Tony put his hands on Steve's hips, ready to get rid of his pants. Steve stopped him, grabbing his wrists gently but firmly. "No, it's your turn next."

"Hah, sure, you've got it," Tony promised. Unlike last time, he didn't wait for Steve to undress him, but pulled off his sweater and undershirt in one go, and dropped them on the armchair with far less attention than he'd paid to Steve's costume.

Steve held Tony by the shoulders, admiring his bare upper body. It looked just as he remembered it: lean muscles and unblemished skin, with a soft golden shimmer that he thought was mostly reflected light from the fireplace. There was no sign of the bullet wounds. If Steve hadn't seen them with his own eyes, he would never have guessed Tony had been injured at all. He explored the silky smooth skin with his fingers, drawing a line down Tony's sternum, over his stomach, and back again, enjoying the quiver of muscles under his fingertips and the stutter in Tony's breathing. Finally, he brought his hand up again to rest his palm over the excited throb of Tony's heartbeat.

"I know you think what happened to you is more of a curse than a blessing," Steve said softly, "but it's not all bad. I'm so glad you're all right."

"I… " Tony breathed out, his expression suddenly more serious. "I was thinking it's all bad, I really was. That maybe I shouldn't have been healed—that I should've been buried with the Fountain, because I'm too dangerous. But," he paused and covered Steve's hand with his, pressing it against his chest. "I'm starting to reconsider that, because I wouldn't be here with you without it. Even if I'm not sure I deserve this."

"Of course you do." Steve moved his other hand to Tony's back to pull him closer and into another kiss, first on the lips, then, playfully and sloppily, on Tony's cheeks and chin. Tony smiled, but stayed still, as if partly lost in thought, so Steve stopped and let go of him, giving him space.

Tony sat down on the armchair, his hands on his lap, his shoulders hunched. "Since I'm apparently doing my best to bring down the mood, there's one more confession I've got to make."

"Oh? What's that?" Steve asked. He hadn't thought there were any secrets left. He crossed his arms, instinctively, then realized he'd done it, and made himself open them again, letting them hang by his sides. He didn't want to seem defensive or judgemental when he hadn't even heard what it was about.

"Last time was the first time I had sex with someone after the Fountain." Tony glanced up at Steve, looking apologetic. "I mean, sure, I'd experimented on my own, and found out that my refractory period had gone down to something ridiculous, but I had no idea how things would work out with a partner."

This wasn't a major revelation to Steve; he'd already guessed that might've been the case. "So, that's why the occasional hesitation."

"I didn't know how my powers worked, like I still don't," Tony explained, holding out a hand in front of him, studying his fingers. "I worried that if I got too excited I might literally set the sheets on fire. Sounds funny, but it really isn't. I feel bad for letting you take such a huge risk without any idea of what you were getting into."

"Well, it was fine in the end," Steve said. This bothered him less than it seemed to bother Tony, maybe because he had known who Tony was all along, and he'd been aware of the potential danger. "Besides, it's not like I was any better. I might not be able to burn things, but I'm strong enough to hurt people if I'm not careful. I didn't tell you about that, either. Not to mention, you wouldn't have wanted me around if you'd known who I really was."

"Not when I thought you were after me—which you were, of course. It still boggles my mind you could be so devious." The way Tony said that sounded more amused than angry, which Steve was happy to hear.

"So, we both had secrets, we admitted it, and accepted it. No harm was done. It's all settled now, in my book." Steve stepped closer, prompting Tony spread his legs so he could stand between them.

Tony leaned against Steve, wrapped his arms around him and rested his head against Steve's front. "We make quite the pair, don't we," he mumbled into Steve's chest.

"Perfectly matched." Steve pressed his face into Tony's curls. Their scent reminded him of pipe smoke.

Still cuddling Steve, Tony brought his hands to Steve's waistband, his fingers slipping under costume and shorts to Steve's buttocks. Their warmth sent a renewed shiver of want through Steve.

"I think I might be done talking, now," Tony said. "We were in the middle of something."

"Yes, we were," Steve agreed.

Tony was still sitting in the chair; Steve thought it was time to choose a better setting. Remembering how Tony had enjoyed being manhandled last time, Steve grabbed each of his thighs to lift him up. Tony made a yelp that sounded surprised, but also delighted. He hurriedly moved his hands to Steve's back to balance himself, and hooked his heels behind Steve's legs.

The stairs leading to the loft would be challenging to negotiate while carrying someone, so Steve went for the easier and closer option instead. The sheepskin rug was only a few steps away, and looked soft and inviting. Moving very carefully, Steve crossed the floor to it and set Tony down on the rug, where he lay down on his back. 

Steve leaned over Tony, knees between Tony's legs, elbows by his sides, and started pressing kisses all over Tony's bare upper body, following a trail down his neck and chest, over his abdomen, ending up at his waistline. Tony chuckled breathlessly, and the way his muscles danced under Steve's lips was tantalizing. The only thing that was even more exciting was the obvious swell of his cock, very close to where Steve's face ended up.

"Come on, help me with these," Tony urged, his hands tugging at his waistband.

Steve didn't need to be told twice. He sat up, undid Tony's belt and pulled down his pants and briefs. His socks and shoes were only a minor obstacle on the way. Soon, Tony was entirely naked. Lying there in the light of the hearth, he looked perfect; like some antique god of fire, his skin aglow and his cock standing proud.

It took strength of will for Steve to turn his attention away from Tony long enough to finish undressing himself, but it needed to be done. He left his boots on the floor by the chair where they'd placed his shirt, and draped his pants over it. It came to him in a pang of guilt that he'd forgotten his gloves outside earlier, but there was no way he was going back for them now. Not when Tony, propped up on his elbows, was eyeing him with a hungry look that certainly set his insides ablaze.

"As impressive as that costume is, this is better," Tony said, his voice husky. "Much better."

"I agree." It was a great feeling to be finally out of the costume, rid of the background guilt of wearing it and the restrictive fabric holding back his cock.

Steve settled down on the rug next to Tony, lying on his side. Tony reached out a hand to caress Steve's face, gently at first. Then, as if changing his mind, he placed it behind Steve's neck, wrapped a leg around Steve's, and pulled him close into a tight, intense embrace. Their mouths met, and their tongues, as did their cocks, trapped enticingly between their bodies, making Steve grind his hips against Tony in search of friction. The warmth that permeated every part of Tony's body merged with that radiating from the hearth, cocooning Steve, almost as if he'd been transformed as well. Steve let his hands roam over Tony's body, down the ridges of his spine, over the solid muscles of his back and buttocks.

There were no words for a good while after, just the crackle of the fireplace and the whisper of skin against skin. It was far more leisurely than their previous encounter; that had been mostly about getting each other off. This was something more. This was them luxuriating in the moment when all secrets were out, all walls down. They were no longer a detective and his suspect, nor Captain America and Ed the mechanic. They were just Tony and Steve, two men learning to know one another—and themselves.

When Tony shifted to slide one hand between their bodies, Steve also slackened his hold enough to give them more room. He didn't get further than that before Tony's fingers closed around his cock, the heat of his touch taking Steve's breath away.

"That whole thing about saying if it's too much, that still stands, okay?" Tony said.

"Yes, yes, I'll tell you," Steve promised. "Don't worry. It's intense, but that's how I like it."

"I got that impression." Tony made a tentative stroke, his fingers deliciously tight against Steve's sensitive skin, pulling another gasp out of him.

Steve managed to regain his faculties enough to maneuver his hand between them as well. He first pinched a nipple between his fingers. Tony had seemed to like that, last time, and he did now, too, letting out a moan, his grip on Steve loosening and tightening again. Encouraged by the reaction, Steve wormed his other hand out from underneath him, so he could still keep hold of a nipple while also grabbing Tony's cock.

"Mmmh, yes, just like that, Steve," Tony murmured. Still, he didn't lose his focus; instead, he seemed set on being one step ahead of Steve. He worked his free hand into play as well, reaching downwards to fondle Steve's balls, and started pumping Steve's cock with more determination, rough and fast. He knew what Steve liked, too. 

Steve did get distracted, his own hand on Tony's cock half forgotten as he thrust into Tony's fist. "Tony," he moaned breathlessly. He'd had to avoid using that name the last time they'd been together. It felt good to be finally able to say it aloud. No more lying and hiding.

Tony eased up a little, and pushed at Steve's chest with one hand. "On your back. I want to see you properly," he demanded.

Steve was happy to oblige. He let go of Tony's cock altogether, and settled to lie on his back. The fleecy rug was soft and comfortable under him, contrasting with the warm weight of Tony straddling his thighs. Looking up at him, Steve saw his wildly tousled hair haloed by the firelight, framing his ecstatic face.

"You're so beautiful," Steve told him.

"You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," Tony said, outdoing him again. "And believe me, I've seen lots of amazing things in my life." He still had one hand on Steve's cock, but his strokes were less intense. His other hand trailed over the skin of Steve's chest, which was sheened in sweat all over, thanks to the warmth of his lover and the fire next to them. 

Steve brought his hand next to their cocks again, and carefully closed his fingers around both of them so he could press them against one another. Tony let out a pleased hum, and followed Steve's example, shifting his hand so that both cocks were caught between their hands. Though Steve's was hot and heavy, it still felt cool compared to Tony's. When they started jerking off together, the heat and the slickness from sweat and copiously leaking precome mixed together into so many sensations, it drove any remaining rational thoughts out of Steve's mind.

"Tony, I'm close, I'm so close," Steve panted.

"Yes, yes, me too." The fingers of Tony's free hand captured Steve's nipple, adding yet another bright flare of pleasure to the mix. "Don't hold back, Steve. Let go. Come for me," he coaxed, his grip on their cocks growing tighter, his strokes more vigorous again.

Steve wouldn't have been able to wait much longer if he'd wanted to. Tony's words and the things his nimble, hot fingers were doing pushed Steve right over the edge. The world turned into a heat haze of pleasure as he came hard, spurting all over Tony's chest, Tony's name on his lips.

After a few more strokes, Tony followed, his head thrown back, moaning wantonly. His come burned like hot wax where it landed on Steve's skin, and Steve's hand went to it on reflex, relishing the feeling of it while the aftershocks of his own orgasm shook his body. It was pain, danger, excitement and pleasure all together. It was Tony, and he enjoyed all of it.

Tony settled down half sprawled on top of Steve, his head on Steve's shoulder, lacing his fingers with Steve's where the sticky mess of their come coated Steve's stomach. They stayed there in silence for several long minutes, content, letting their racing hearts settle. In the afterglow, all the warmth surrounding Steve was beginning to grow stifling, but the thought of moving didn't even cross his mind.

"I'm so glad you're here," Tony said, lazily caressing Steve's side.

Steve brought his free hand to the back of Tony's head, smoothing his unruly hair. "I'm glad to be here."

"I wish you could stay with me and never leave." There was a wistful undertone to Tony's voice, and he didn't need to say more for Steve to guess what was on his mind. Tony had exiled himself out here in the wilderness because he didn't think he could ever return to his old life. He also knew that Steve had all his duties as Captain America, and would only be able to visit this remote place every so often.

Steve had thought about this, too, and he'd reached a different conclusion. "I have a better idea. You could come back home with me, instead."

Tony's hand stopped still, and his chest expanded in a deep sigh against Steve's. "I think I made it very clear already why I can't."

"You did, but maybe you didn't consider all the options," Steve said, running his hand soothingly down Tony's spine. "You don't have to deal with this on your own, not anymore. I know people who can help."


	14. Epilogue

* * *

Following Steve's directions, Tony drove them in his favorite Bugatti to a peaceful middle-class neighborhood in New Jersey. The street that awaited them at the end of the ride was perfectly ordinary, with two-story houses that had flawless facades and well-tended lawns. In spite of the cloudy day, Tony could spot several children playing in the yards, and a man trimming a hedge.

It all seemed almost too normal and too peaceful. "You sure this is the right place?" he checked.

"Yes, this is it," Steve confirmed. "You can park at the curb, just over there, behind that red Ford."

Tony felt nervous, and it wasn't the fluttery excitement of being close to Steve that he still occasionally got, a week after they'd come to terms with their mutual feelings. It was the fear of something too bright and hot lurking at the back of his mind. As he brought the car to a standstill, a nightmarish image flashed across his mind's eye: the street in flames, the lawns dead and charred, the sky covered in black smoke instead of clouds, and people screaming in pain.

He couldn't stop thinking that he might cause something like that. Even if he'd never, ever choose to, the power to do it was inside of him, and he might not be able to stop himself if it tore loose.

He let go of the wheel to press the heels of his hands into his eyes, willing that awful vision to go away.

"Hey," Steve said cautiously, his hand settling on Tony's shoulder to massage it. "You okay?"

"Not really," Tony admitted. He let his hands fall to his lap so he could face Steve.

Steve looked gorgeous, as he always did. Instead of his costume, he wore the suit from when they'd first met. It wasn't as perfectly fitting as Tony's, but it accentuated the breadth of his shoulders nicely, and his blue tie set off his eyes. Unfortunately, even this beauty before him wasn't enough to soothe Tony.

"Is this really worth the risks?" Tony went on. "There's no telling if he can really help me keep myself in check. His powers might be similar, but they're a result of science gone wrong. Mine are, well, who knows what. We're not the same."

Steve placed his other hand on Tony's other shoulder, and pressed his lips against Tony's in a soft, lingering kiss. As always, Tony relished the cool touch and the fearless, unhesitating way Steve faced him.

"It's going to be alright," Steve reassured him, one hand on the back of his neck now, his forehead resting against Tony's. It felt like a cold compress over feverish skin. "Toro's learned a lot about controlling his powers during the years I've known him. You may be different, but I think he'll still have useful advice for you. If that seems like it's not enough, there are others we can ask. We'll figure it out."

Tony couldn't bring himself to share Steve's optimism. "But what if something goes wrong? All these people—"

Steve sat back, his eyes fixed on Tony's, and took Tony's hands in his. "You're not going to harm them." There was no trace of uncertainty in his voice; clearly, from his point of view, he wasn't trying to reassure Tony, but simply stating a fact. "We've been over this. Every time you've lost control, you've been injured yourself. That's not going to happen here. You're perfectly safe, and so is everyone else."

"That's not a fact, it's a hypothesis, and one we can't prove," Tony countered. "Besides, we still don't know what happened at Jan's party."

The incident that had originally sent Steve on Tony's trail was the biggest gap left in Tony's knowledge of what had happened. Maya had told him the events at the Fountain, and various mobsters had described their encounters with him before every other fire, but none of them had admitted to having ever been to Jan's townhouse.

"No, but there's a good chance you didn't actually start that one," Steve reminded him.

The FDNY's investigation had concluded that the fire had most likely started from a curtain, and there had been candles close by. As explanations went, it seemed far-fetched to Tony that seeing a mundane incident like that would've been enough to awake the fiery thing inside him. It wasn't impossible, but the simpler explanation was that he'd set that curtain on fire himself. Unfortunately, they had no good eyewitness accounts, and since Tony himself had no recollection of what had happened, he'd probably never know the truth.

He shook his head at Steve. "There's an equally good change that I did. And whether I did or not, that fire would've been contained faster if I hadn't made it worse. Even if Jan said she doesn't blame me, I still caused her plenty of grief." He sighed, leaning against the car seat. "Not to mention all those people who got hurt. I can spend the rest of my life rebuilding the houses I destroyed, but that won't heal anyone's burns, let alone bring back the dead."

That was the plan, now: Tony was going to dedicate his time and his money to repairing and rebuilding the property he'd damaged on his fiery rampages. This was the consensus of an off the record meeting with some of the higher-ups from the police and fire departments. Tony wasn't sure how much of his account of the events they had believed. Even in a world where men like Toro and Captain America were widely known, Tony's particular powers and their origin sounded outlandish. Still, they had accepted Cap's insistence that Tony had only ever acted in self-defense.

The officials had seemed relieved to hear that Cap already had a plan for how Tony could compensate for the harm he'd done, and that he was willing to oversee the process. If they'd known of Steve's personal involvement with Tony, their opinion would certainly have been different, but as it was, they now had an arrangement that satisfied all parties. To Tony, it felt like it was more than he deserved.

Steve's fingers tightened around Tony's, pulling him out of his thoughts. "Tony," he said, mild rebuke in his voice.

He didn't need more words than that to make his point; Tony could tell what it was right away. They had already had this discussion several times. It always started with Tony's self-reproach, and continued with Steve arguing that Tony hadn't actually meant to burn anyone and was taking full responsibility for what had happened in every possible way. Those conversations didn't really make Tony feel better about any of it. Maybe he'd eventually learn to live with his guilt, but that time wasn't yet, and there wasn't much point in going through the motions again.

"I know, I know," Tony just said, hanging his head.

Steve stayed quiet, but he let go of Tony's fingers to run his hands comfortingly up and down Tony's forearms.

"It's just that even if all goes well, and I manage to convince myself I'm not an immediate risk to everyone around me," Tony began again, looking up at Steve. "I'm trying to picture what my future might look like, a year from now, or five years, and I have no idea. I think about going back to my old life, pretending none of this happened, and that doesn't feel right. I'll always be carrying this fire inside me now, no matter what, and that changes things. It's almost like I don't know who I am. The war already left me feeling different, but this—I think of that man who poses on the covers of Marvels, and that's not me, not anymore."

Steve's hands stopped moving, but their solid weight remained on top of Tony's. "Trust me, I know exactly how that feels," Steve said. Tony had no trouble believing that; Steve had been through a life-changing transformation himself, after all.

"Coming to terms with it isn't easy," Steve continued, "and it takes time. I'm not sure if I've had enough of it myself. Sometimes I still feel as if I'm trapped in someone else's body, living someone else's life. I also don't know what my future will bring, in a year or five, but recently, I've started looking forward to it a whole lot more than I used to." He spoke the last sentence softly, looking deep into Tony's eyes, and when he fell quiet, a tender smile lingered on his lips.

There was nothing sinister about the warm feeling that took over Tony now, seeing that fond look on Steve's face, and hearing him allude to a future together. Even if they were still in the early days of this relationship, and Tony was well aware that things might change, it gave him hope.

"When you put it like that, it all sounds a lot less scary," Tony said, and leaned closer to Steve to kiss him again, the touch of Steve's lips against his more soothing than exciting.

When they pulled apart, Steve sat up straight, one hand still clasping Tony's. "If you feel up to it, I think we should go now. Toro's waiting for us."

"I'm ready," Tony said, gave Steve's fingers a squeeze, and let go of his hand.

Together, they got out of the car and took the first steps towards their shared future.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> As a reminder, there's an AO3 post with all the art [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14769120); please go drop hundredthousands kudos/comments if you enjoyed the beautiful illustrations! Additionally, a tumblr post with some selected arts for sharing can be found [here](http://hundredthousands.tumblr.com/post/174307902796/the-fire-in-your-eyes-by-veldeia-veldeia%0A).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * ['The Fire in Your Eyes' Illustrations](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14769120) by [hundredthousands](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hundredthousands/pseuds/hundredthousands)




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